"Portions of Eternity" by Dianora
Started: June 1998
Finished: September 23,1998
Category: Let's just say S, although there's a definite plot here.
Sub-categories: R, A
Rating: NC17 for sex, plus language, violence, the works
Keywords: MSR (although I think the sappiness quotient is minimal)
Archive: yes to Gossamer; anywhere else please ask me first
Spoilers: Just about everything, including the movie.
Summary: In the post-colonization world, a very changed Mulder and
Scully struggle to find their way back to each other - both physically
and emotionally.
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended, but boy was this fun...
Feedback: This is the longest, most ambitious thing I've ever written,
and I would therefore LOVE feedback. Please. Write me at
Dianora2@aol.com.
This story benefited greatly from the invaluable advice and input
of Nicole Perry. Nic, thank you for bullying me into sending
you the first draft. You, quite simply, rock. :-) Thanks also go
to Cafe UST for their nagging and encouragement, and specifically
to Allegra for pushing me when I needed a push, and to MD1016
for all of her unconditional support.
I also need to thank two friends who will probably never
read this: Genny, for brainstorming with me even though
she thinks I'm a freak for writing fanfic; and Ami, for patiently
answering all of my bizarre medical questions.
This is dedicated to my fellow Wisconsin Spice Girls: MD1016,
Nic Perry, and Karen Rasch. It was our fanfic discussion
in the hotel bar in Chicago that inspired this in the first place.
Here's to hoping that Santa Fe is our best adventure ever.
"There are rules!"
=======================================
"Great truths are portions of the soul of man;
Great souls are portions of eternity."
-- "Sonnet VI," James Russell Lowell, 1819-1891
=======================================
It had been a very long time since he'd been here last.
He was shocked, in a way, to discover that the cherry
blossoms still bloomed, or that the Potomac still flowed.
Or even that the sun still shone in the sky. He thought of
every day as gray, now. But the blue sky above him was
jarringly bright, almost cheery. He resented it for being so.
Only the fact that he had a job to do kept him from giving
in to the anger and despair. Yet it ate away at him with tiny,
painful bites - being back here after so long, back where they
had been together, where she had saved him over and over again,
where he had been, for once in his life, whole -- it was almost
too much to process.
But he had a job to do.
He hefted the heavy black bag he carried, glanced briefly at the
spherical alien ship hovering in its permanent position over the
White House, and continued on his way.
Dana hated the parties.
One of the drones -- Lisette, it must have been -- had meticulously
laid out the gown she was to wear earlier that evening, as if to
remind Dana that she wouldn't be able to avoid tonight's function.
She smoothed the dress against her skin now: a silk, ankle-length,
off the shoulder number; fairly slinky, but not quite cheap-looking.
It was white, of course. She was so tired of white.
As her limo rolled up to the steps of the Cooperative Center --
the =Kennedy= Center, she reminded herself grimly -- she took
a deep breath and steeled herself for what was to come. Just a few
hours, and then you can go home, she chanted in her head. You've
done this before, you can do it again.
Her driver opened the door and she stepped out onto the sidewalk,
half-expecting to feel the flashes of paparazzi bulbs against her face,
like a movie star from before. But there were only the silent hulking
security personnel -- morphers, hybrids, drones; she wasn't sure, she
still couldn't always tell and supposed it didn't really matter - waiting
patiently for her to make her way up the marble steps. Waiting to make
sure she didn't try to go anywhere else. She spotted one of the two
henchmen assigned to her on a rotating 24-hour watch off to the side,
observing her without expression. It was Freddie. Freddie and Felix,
she called them in her head, in an effort to demean them, or to at least
make them sound human, although she was pretty sure they were in
fact hybrids. She threw Freddie an arch look before proceeding to
the entrance, knowing it would have no effect on him, but needing to
make the statement regardless.
The bright overhead lighting bathed her in warmth as she stepped
into the banquet hall. Deep red velvet drapes swathed the wide
bay windows, plush red carpeting encased her feet, and red and
white linen tablecloths adorned the china- and crystal-laden tables.
It was like entering into a womb, filled with blood. The sharp, almost
metallic smell that always accompanied the Colonists' presence
permeated the filtered air, and she hoped she'd become inured to it
quickly tonight.
Scattered throughout the large, high-ceilinged hall, Colonists conferred
with their human lackeys while local toadies worked the room, jockeying
for any small scraps of power, patting themselves on the backs while
making sure no sharp-edged knives were lodged there. Desperation,
fear and subterfuge hung in the room like tangible presences and set
her teeth on edge.
Here and there she spotted the drones, dressed in yellow and attending
to various needs: serving, cleaning, spying. She supposed they might
be grateful to have drawn household duties instead of hard labor in
the mines or on the farms, as so many others had, if they still retained
any real consciousness. The color of their clothing stood out in sharp
contrast against the red of the room. Not for the first time she wondered
why They had chosen yellow. No one looked good in yellow. Obviously
a decision made by men. And not even human men, at that. The thought
humored her a little, and she almost smiled.
She spotted a few Colonists and local leaders she should probably pump
for information, but her heart wasn't in it tonight for some reason. Instead,
she simply made her way to the table set aside for the other Mothers, trying
not to wince as a Colonist slithered past her and emitted a low hiss. The
women at the table greeted her warmly, as always, looking her up and down
and then peering over her shoulder for a glimpse of Freddie. Dana was the
only Mother with "bodyguards," and they simultaneously envied and pitied
her for it. She'd never deemed it necessary to tell the women that Freddie
and Felix were not so much bodyguards as spies to keep her in line. That
kind of information wouldn't go over well at their sterile tea parties.
"Dana." The woman Dana knew only as Kristina gestured to the empty
seat next to her. Dana slid into it gratefully and favored the woman with
a smile. Kristina was the only Mother who ever seemed to act like a normal
human being. The others were too afraid of losing status with the Colonists,
or of somehow committing a transgression that would revoke their Mother
status.
"Are we having fun yet?" Dana murmured, and was rewarded with a short
laugh from her friend.
"As soon as that happens, I'll be sure to let you know," she retorted.
"So what exactly is on the agenda for tonight? I haven't heard a thing."
Kristina pulled her copious blonde hair back away from her face in what Dana
recognized as a nervous habit. "They say a bigwig from before is going
to speak tonight. A governor? President even? No one seems to know.
But I hear he has big news. Maybe something about Greenland."
Greenland. Dana's stomach turned over, but she forced herself to look
bored. "Have they finally managed to put a stop to the latest fighting over
there?"
Kristina shrugged. "Like I said, I don't know." She looked at Dana steadily
with somber gray eyes, and Dana could see the unspoken message there:
Let's hope we're winning. She didn't think Kristina was a member of the
resistance, but she suspected the blonde woman shared the sentiment, at
least, even if she would never be foolish enough to say so.
"I need to use the restroom," Dana said abruptly; she was suddenly having
trouble breathing normally. Praying that she wasn't about to experience another
panic attack - it had been months since the last one, after all -- she rose from
her chair and walked briskly across the width of the banquet hall, pausing only
when the cigarette smoking man crossed her path. She stared at him stonily,
not returning his insincere smile of welcome, and brushed past him with as
much dignity as she could muster.
She could feel his eyes on her ass as she walked away.
Once inside the bathroom she closed the door behind her and then leaned
against it, resting her forehead against the cool metal and taking deep, even
breaths. Greenland. Skinner was in Greenland. Skinner was in Greenland
at her request -- hell, at her pleading -- heading things up on that end while
she continued her medical research and networking over here.
Had they gotten to him at last?
She thought she would have heard something, but the lines of communication
from there to here had been iffy at best the past few months. No. She refused
to lose hope. It was all that she had left now, other than her memories.
She went to the sink and splashed some cold water on her face, not caring
that it might ruin her makeup job. She dabbed her face with the towel provided
and breathed deeply again, in through the nose, out through the mouth. She
took one last look at herself in the mirror. Her makeup was intact, but if
anyone who knew her well enough were to look closely, they'd be able to
see the worry in her eyes.
But no one was here who did. No one had been for a very long time.
She stifled a sigh and walked out of the bathroom.
He checked the settings on his weapon again, well aware as he did so that
he was being compulsive about it. He was right to be nervous, he told
himself; he'd never had to perform such a high-level rub before. Granted,
he had little worry of being caught; enough of the Syndicate's men were in
place here tonight to ensure that he wouldn't be apprehended, and his
current perch high up in the rafters was both advantageous and discreet.
But he nonetheless worried about botching the job. He knew what would
happen if he did.
So he checked the rifle, one more time.
And when he looked back up he saw a dream walking.
He supposed he should be thankful it wasn't a ghost. Dana Scully was
directly below him, dressed in a stunning white gown, hair perfectly coiffed,
makeup expertly applied. Ridiculously gorgeous; she probably hated the
ensemble. To an untrained eye she was the very epitome of a Mother, and
if she was anyone else he would assume she carried her barren womb with
pride. But this wasn't any Mother. This was Scully. His Scully.
He cursed at himself. Not anymore, asshole. Not anymore.
He pulled back even more behind the rafters, knowing she couldn't possibly
see him, but paranoid about it anyway. At the same time, a thrill rippled
through him. She looked healthy. She was safe. And now he would get
to watch her unobserved. It was an unbelievable luxury, one he hadn't
anticipated. They'd told him she was in Louisiana these days, the last
time he'd asked.
He suppressed a bitter laugh. Strughold? Lie? Oh, perish the thought.
He drank her in hungrily, determined to commit the vision to his well-
trained memory. The gauzy white gown she wore clung to her body in
a way her FBI suits never had, and her expensive yet understated jewelry
glittered under the bright lights of the hall. The intense red of her hair
stood out even against the overwhelming crimson backdrop of the
furnishings. She held her head high as she crossed the room, fearless
as a lioness, drawing her share of appreciative stares from the humans in
the room, yet seemingly unaffected by them. She'd had a lot of practice
at this, he reflected grimly. She'd never been one to enjoy being the center
of attention. He wondered how she was holding up under the strain. And
then in spite of himself wondered if she ever thought of him, late at night, or
remembered a certain kiss...
He closed his eyes and shook his head. Taking a stroll down memory lane
was not an option on a job. But what choice did he have, with the object of
his every waking and sleeping fantasy so close, yet utterly unattainable?
She had made her way back to her seat, he saw when he was able to look
again. She leaned over and whispered something to the blonde on her
right, who laughed. In spite of the levity, he sensed that Scully was worried
about something. He recognized the tense set of her shoulders.
I have to see her, he realized. If I don't see her before I leave, I
don't know what I'll do. Damn the consequences. He was supposed to
head back to Denver right after this job, but he could probably finesse
something if he talked fast enough. Get Marita to cover for him with
Strughold. She had the damn German wrapped around her finger anyway.
God dammit, it had been three years. How could he not see her, talk
to her...touch her? It had to be worth the risk. Didn't it?
Worth the risk to you, yes, he chastised himself. But worth the risk to
Scully?
A smattering of applause brought his focus back to the matter at hand.
Robert Stanton Boston, former Speaker of the House of the United
States Congress, was taking the podium at the front of the banquet hall.
Mulder raised the gun sight to his eye and took aim.
Dana had to consciously remind herself to breathe when she saw Boston
take the stage. In the chaotic days following the Arrival, the elder statesman
from Virginia had been radically outspoken against any kind of complicity with
the Colonists. She'd assumed he'd been executed long before, and was even
more surprised to find that he wasn't at the very least a drone, shuttled off to
one mining facility or another. What did his presence here mean for the
resistance? For all of them?
The older man cleared his throat and smiled at his audience. "Elders,
Ladies and Gentlemen, Mothers, it is my honor to be with you all tonight.
I have exciting news to share, news that I am sure will bring you much
gladness." He paused and cleared his throat again, fumbled with the cards in
front of him, adjusted his bright red tie. He was visibly sweating, a light mist
forming on his bald pate.
He's too nervous, Scully thought. Something's wrong. Is he not going to
follow Their program, whatever it may be?
"Ladies and gentlemen," Boston said again, and then he seemed to call upon
some inner reserve, and as he continued his voice grew stronger, even strident,
"I am here to tell you that we cannot give up the fight --" He never finished his
sentence; a bullet ripped through his forehead seconds after the loud report of
a firearm from the rafters. The elderly man toppled to the floor, and Scully
didn't have to be a doctor to know that he was already dead.
Amid the screams and shocked murmuring of the gathered crowd, Scully
leapt up from her seat and dashed toward the nearest fire exit, hoping to at
least catch a glimpse of the culprit so that she might determine if he
was friend or foe. Boston had obviously been about to make a terrorist
resistance statement in direct opposition to the Colonists who had brought him
here tonight, and it would be most interesting to find out which side wanted
him silenced badly enough to make such a public scene.
Her hunch had been right; a tall, dark figure was slipping through the fire
door just as she reached it. "Wait!" she yelled reflexively, then stopped and
cursed herself for being such an idiot; her days of law enforcement were
long over, and she was weaponless, of course. But she had to know which
side this executioner was on, if nothing else for her own future strategies.
For her team. For Skinner, if he was still alive. She only vaguely hoped
that the man wouldn't decide to kill her.
Amazingly, he stopped and turned around to face her. And her heart
stopped in her chest.
Thank god he's all right thankgodthankgod
"Mulder?" she whispered hoarsely. Her hands came up and gripped her
own shoulders, nails digging through the silk into her flesh as she fought
desperately against the emotion that threatened to carry her away.
Fox Mulder looked wonderful. Fit, healthy - if a bit thin - and handsome as
ever. Dressed all in black, and carrying a gun.
Their eyes met, and white fire coursed down her spine. She had to bite down
on her lip to keep from screaming. He opened his mouth to speak, his eyes as
stormy as hers, when they heard footsteps headed their way, lots of them. He
glanced nervously in the direction of the sound before looking back at her.
"Tonight," he rasped, and slipped out the door.
Scully stumbled back to the banquet hall, eyes unseeing and ears unhearing
until finally her driver was at her elbow, urging her to go home and get
some rest after all the excitement.
"Rest," she murmured. As if that were possible, now.
Mulder got away easily, as he knew he would, escorted to his car by the
Syndicate's undercover goons. Piece of cake, as usual -- anyone could
have handled this job; his personal services were required merely as a
demeaning reminder of his continued lack of options. The alien Troops
made a show of looking around outside for a little while, but gave up
quickly. Executions like Boston's were too commonplace to cause much
concern, and the loss of one more human didn't mean shit to the Colonists.
The inconvenience of their party being interrupted was more of an offense.
They probably even suspected that their "allies" in the Syndicate were
behind the assassination, for that matter. The Colonists were firm believers
in giving you just enough rope to hang yourself. Mulder wondered just
how long it would be before Strughold and the rest were readied for the
gallows.
Mulder didn't leave the scene of the crime as planned. He sat like an idiot
in his getaway car, until he spotted Scully's fiery hair getting into a black
limousine. And then he followed, careful to stay a safe distance behind her
obvious tail, until they reached her manor house in Chevy Chase. Perfect.
Neither human nor Colonist had yet installed a security system that he
couldn't crack.
As he lit a cigarette and settled in to wait for the right time to sneak in -
preferably when that hulking guy who'd followed her home fell asleep -
his mind traveled back to their last moments together. He'd relived it so
many times that he knew all the dialogue by heart.
***
"I'm still not sure about this, Mulder. It feels too much like running away."
Only one lamp had been turned on in her living room, and now her pale face
looked haunted in the dim light. He stepped closer to her, took her hands
in his, and spoke as persuasively as possible. "We don't have a choice, Scully.
We can do a lot more good if we get out of here, go somewhere remote, than
if we stick around here and wait for the shit to hit the fan. Right now the
Colonists are promising us peace and happiness and the cure to every disease
known to humankind, but we know what's really going to happen. They're
just stalling for time until the bees are released. And we have to use that
knowledge to our advantage while we still can." The cigarette smoking
bastard had given him a chillingly knowing look in the hallway of J. Edgar
Hoover the other day that had scared the hell out of him, although he hadn't
shared that information with his partner. He didn't want to add to her
anxiety any more than he had to.
"I know. I...I know," she said with a catch in her throat. She looked away from
him. "I already told my family. Bill and Charlie scooped up Mom and the wives
and kids and headed for Ireland while travel is still allowed. We have some distant
relatives over there, and god knows they won't be at risk the way they probably
would be in this country. I'm not sure they entirely believed me, but how can they
afford to take a chance that I'm wrong, right?" She almost attempted a smile, but
then paused, and he could see her jaw work as she swallowed back threatening
tears. "Mom didn't want to leave without me, but I convinced her that I'd be safe
with you.
"I'm scared, Mulder," she said quietly, finally meeting his eyes so that
he could see the fear there. "I don't like to admit it, but I'm absolutely
terrified."
His heart wrenched at her forlorn expression. "I know you are. I am too." He
reached out for her, tried to pull her to him, but she pushed him away.
"No. You don't get it." She picked a white box up off of the coffee table.
"This arrived earlier today." She held it out to him with trembling hands.
"Open it."
Inside the box was a floor-length white gossamer gown - in Scully's size.
"What the hell is this?" he asked, fingering the material in horror.
"I don't know," Scully said. "But it scared the shit out of me, Mulder. Look
on the bottom of the box."
He turned it over, and his heart skipped when he saw the red insignia there,
even though he wasn't surprised. He'd heard rumors... "This is a Colonist
logo."
"Don't you think I know that?" she asked, practically shrieking. She stopped
and held her hands over her face in dismay. "I'm sorry. I just... "
"It's okay," he said, tossing the box on the floor. She let him pull her close
this time, and he wrapped his arms around her, breathing in the scent of
her hair. "We're going to get out of here, and we're going to be all right,
Scully," he said against her ear. "I promise."
"Don't make promises you can't keep," she said, her words desperate, her
voice muffled by his chest.
He pulled back, cupped her face in his hands. "What's to worry about?
Scully, when we work as a team, anything's possible."
She smiled slightly. "You may be overestimating us just a bit."
"Never," he said, grinning, feeling strangely light-hearted suddenly
in spite of the gravity of their situation. Maybe it was her smile, which
never failed to get to him. He caressed her cheek with the back of his
hand, and she reached up to hold it there, leaning in to his touch.
They both felt the moment change. It was as if the air crackled with
a cosmic energy and =pushed= them toward each other, and before
Mulder even knew what he was doing he was leaning down and pressing
his lips to hers, gently, tentatively. She hesitated at first, but then her
mouth opened beneath his and she returned the kiss fully, taking in his
questing tongue and caressing it with her own. Her hands roamed his back
and her body melted into his. The sensation of her quickened breathing
against his cheek made him light-headed. He pulled her even closer to
him, conscious only of the smell, feel, and taste of her. Finally. God.
They kissed for what seemed like forever, hungrily, with escalating passion,
until Scully pulled away. She placed her hands on his chest and tried to
catch her breath. "Mulder, I --"
He cut her off by placing a finger on her lips. "Whatever you're going to
say, Scully, don't. Not now. We have the rest of our lives for this. Such
as they are."
She hesitated, obviously wanting to continue anyway, then nodded in
acquiescence. "I'll see you tomorrow morning."
"Sunrise," he amended. "Be packed and ready." He smoothed her hair
tenderly, and then, with one final look back at her worried face, he left
her apartment.
****
Mulder banged his fist against the dashboard at the memory. They had
been so close, so damn close... And that kiss...it had haunted his dreams
and inflamed his fantasies for years. That kiss had been a promise, more so
than his words, and she had believed him. But how did she feel about him
now? Hell, he hadn't been all that sure how she'd felt about him back then,
although he liked to think he had a pretty good idea. But how had life under
the Colonists' constant gaze changed her? Although many women thrived
under their new exalted status, he'd heard tales of Mothers committing suicide
as a final escape from the lives that had been thrust upon them. Every story
that reached his ears had ground fear into his heart for Scully's own mental
health. Had they managed to affect her soul as much as they'd affected her
social standing?
He was terrified to find out. But it didn't matter. He had to know.
When he spotted a changing of the guard on Scully's spy, he took advantage
of the distraction and slipped out of his car and into the night.
He made his way to the far end of the estate and tested the field around the
security gate by picking a stick up off the ground and hurling it at the wrought
iron structure. Sure enough, the gate crackled and sparked and the smell of
burnt wood instantly filled the air. Good thing he had thought to bring
along his tool kit, among other things, in his all-purpose black bag. He
extracted the highly rare and highly contraband neutralizer, pointed it in the
direction of the gate, and pressed the activation button. The yellow beam
exploded against the briefly visible bluish electrical field of the gate, then
ceased, leaving the night silent once more.
"Piece of cake," he whispered in satisfaction. He loved the irony:
simple human electricity foiled by alien technology stolen by a human.
Now he just hoped that there wasn't a more sophisticated system set up
on the house itself. Alien-grown home systems were a bit trickier. And a
lot more lethal.
Dana's was disgusted to realize that her hands were shaking as she changed
into her night clothes. Lisette had tried to help her get ready for bed, but
she'd snapped at the older woman so that she'd leave and not return for the
rest of the night. As all the drones had a healthy fear of her in spite of their
programming, it hadn't been very difficult to get rid of her. Dana locked the
door behind her, then continued to test the knob compulsively every few
minutes. One of the most aggravating aspects of Motherhood was the fact
that you never felt truly alone, not even in your own personal gilded cage.
So what the hell was Mulder doing in Washington? He was supposed to
be out in...Denver, she thought it was. He was supposed to be safe.
A clerk, the cigarette man had told her, the one time she'd worked up
the nerve to hold a gun to his head. A pencil-pusher at one of the
mining facilities the Syndicate had helped the Colonists to set up out
there. When had he become their errand boy on top of that? And
could she still trust him? Should she?
And what did he want with her, after all these years? For that matter,
what did she want from him? How could he help her and the resistance?
Would he even be willing to do so?
Too many questions. She shoved them from her mind with an effort of
will and slipped on a comfortable silk night shirt, then wrapped herself in
a voluminous terry cloth robe. Mothers always had to wear white in public,
so in private she adorned herself in jeweled tones: ice cold blues, rich and
fiery reds. The clothes she wore now were a forest green, deep as the
woods.
::Come on, Scully. It'll be a nice trip to the forest.::
Stop, she commanded herself. Don't do this to yourself. Don't let him do
this to you. Too much time had passed; too much was at stake now.
A sound at the window snapped her out of her self-indulgent reverie.
"Didn't They install a security system on the house?" he asked as he
climbed in from the night. He threw a black duffel bag on the carpet
and wiped his hands on his jeans.
"Of course. I turned it off. They don't know that I know how," she said.
"Not the smartest idea," he said disapprovingly. Just like old times.
"People don't break in to Mothers' homes," she said softly.
He nodded, acknowledging the truth of it. "Bugs?"
She shook her head. "Frohike does a sweep for me every week."
"Frohike?" he repeated, eyes widening. "He's still around?"
"He'll be here after Judgment Day, him and the cockroaches," she
said, smiling in spite of herself.
He laughed, then winced, as if unfamiliar with the sound.
They just looked at each other, then. Scully could feel tears prick her
eyes. She cursed herself, tried to stop them from falling, but couldn't.
"Mulder..."
And then he was holding her, crushing her against him as if she
was the only thing keeping him standing. She buried her face in
his chest, breathing in the never-forgotten, familiar scent of him,
hardly daring to believe she was actually touching him once more,
after all this time. The cool leather of his jacket contrasted sharply
with the heat of his body against hers.
Before she could think of anything to say to him he lifted her chin,
capturing her lips, bruising her mouth with his, and the resulting
conflagration shocked her system and drove away all coherent thought
even as she realized with a start that he tasted sharply of cigarette smoke.
They clung to each other in desperation, kissing and kissing and kissing
until she found herself grabbing frantically at his clothes, pulling his shirt
over his head as he tugged at the sash of her robe. There were no words
or tender endearments or attempts at repartee, just the struggle to touch,
skin to skin, to take back what had been forcibly taken from them before
it had even begun.
As her robe fell into a crumpled heap on the carpet he roughly pressed her
up against the wall, knocking the breath out of her, then began clawing at
his belt buckle, his zipper, with determined haste. She helped him with
clumsy hands, then pulled her nightshirt up around her hips for him as
he placed his hands on her ass and lifted her up and in one expert motion
impaled her on his hard, swollen sex. He began pumping into her immediately,
thrusting triumphantly, grunting with the effort of it. She held on for dear
life, closing her eyes, letting the delicious, long-denied friction and fullness
set her ablaze. He was everywhere, filling her, consuming her, with his
hands, his mouth, his cock, his breath, again and again and again until
her nails drew lines of blood on his back.
They came together, quickly, quietly, breathlessly. He slumped against her,
burying his face in the crook of her neck, breathing hard, then he eased out
of her and set her feet back on the floor. He smoothed her hair, kissed the top
of her head over and over again, and she closed her eyes to allow herself one
more moment. One more perfect moment to savor and play back behind her
eyelids at night when she touched herself under the covers. And then she
opened them.
"Why are you here, Mulder?" she asked.
He tensed slightly against her, and the kisses stopped. "I had a job
to do," he said in a controlled monotone.
"Kill Boston."
A pause. "Yes."
"For whom?" Funny that the act of murder didn't seem to bother her so
much; she just needed to know where he stood. And how she could
possibly use it in her own favor.
He ran his hand up and down her arm. "You know I can't tell you that."
She looked up at him. His expression as he looked down at her was
complicated, but no one knew him like Dana did. She saw the fear
there, and the conflict.
And the small glimmer of hope. At least that hadn't died. Yet.
"Mulder. I think that after all we have been to each other," she said
steadily, "we owe ourselves the truth, if nothing else. Don't we?"
"You sure know how to play dirty pool, Scully." He sighed, moved
away from her and sat down on the bed, not even bothering to zip up
his jeans. "I work for Strughold and the rest of the Syndicate, both in
conjunction with and in opposition to the Colonists," he said, not looking
at her.
Her breath froze in her lungs. "Why?" was all she could manage.
"It's a deal, Scully, like everything else with these people," he spat.
"I kill the people too dangerous to keep around, or the people they
want offed in a showy fashion, and in return..." He trailed off.
"Tell me."
He looked at her. "And in return, you're still alive."
She shook her head, disbelieving, even though she felt that somehow,
on some level, she had known all along. She sat down next to him on
the bed, pulling her legs up underneath her. "Mulder, I'm one of the original
Mothers, remember? My payback for all those years of abduction hell is
to live in the lap of luxury now, revered by all, while the world sputters
and dies around me. Considering the hundreds of beings running around
with my DNA in their cells, serving the expansion of the Colonists' empire,
it's the least They could do. Alien code of honor and all that," she said
sardonically.
"You're not just any Mother, Scully. I noticed your tail."
"My --? Oh. Freddie." She sighed. "You're right. Freddie and his
counterpart Felix are your legacy to me, Mulder. Once Mrs. Spooky,
always Mrs. Spooky, even if you once gloriously served the cause
against your will." She took his hand, traced the unfamiliar calluses
there. "You're telling the truth, aren't you? They've actually threatened
to kill me if you don't cooperate." The fact that the thought was at all
shocking to her merely underscored how accustomed she had become
to her new life. No. Not accustomed. Adapted.
He squeezed her hand so tightly she almost cried out. "Not just
threatened. They tried once."
Cold fear. "What?"
"About a year ago, they wanted me to do something...something I
could not bring myself to do. Something that I still hate myself for
having done. So I refused. Or tried to. And then they...."
"My car accident," she whispered. He nodded. "But Mulder, that
was an accident, that old woman showed up out of nowhere --"
"Damn it, Scully, don't be naive," he snapped. "You could have
died, because of me."
"But I didn't," she whispered. "I just have this souvenir of the
occasion." She pulled up her nightshirt, took his hand and placed it
on her thigh, where she sported a small pink scar. "The Colonists'
technology is unbelievable. My leg was torn open, top to bottom.
And this is all that's left now."
His thumb traced the length of the scar reverently. "I couldn't live
with myself if anything happened to you."
"What did they make you do?"
A long silence, so long she thought he was going to refuse to answer
her. Then: "I'm...ah...living with Marita Covarrubius."
Dana's head reeled, swimming with images of Mulder and that blonde
in bed, limbs intertwined -- "But why?"
He snorted disdainfully. "As a reward for her, for her service. Apparently
she wanted me for some reason. She probably regrets that by now." He
tried a smile, failed.
Sleeping with Marita. Murder was easier to accept. "Do you love her?"
His face froze. "What the hell kind of a question is that?" he snapped. "Of
course not. I...you're the ..."
"Never mind. I know," she whispered. She did. Not that it did either of
them any good. She leaned into him, resting her cheek on his shoulder.
"Mulder, what happened? The day we were supposed to leave."
He let out a ragged sigh and rested his chin on the top of her head,
smoothing her hair continually as he spoke. "I went home, packed up,
got everything ready, and finally dozed off somewhere around 3 AM.
The next thing I knew I was in the back of a truck, hurtling toward god
knew where, with a headache from hell. I finally got dropped off at some
kind of a prison, a penitentiary that had been converted into a hell of a
more specific nature. They roughed me up for a while, interrogated me,
the works, until finally Strughold himself showed up and coerced me into
playing their games. I agreed, just wanting to get out of there, hoping
I'd be able to make my way back to you." His hold on her tightened,
and she could hear the catch in his throat when he continued. "But
they were too damn thorough. They'd already found you by then, taken
you to your new home, the same time they rounded up all the other Mothers
and showed them their new lives. I was told that if I even thought about
contacting you, or went anywhere that they couldn't find me, that you'd
be dead within the hour. They...they showed me photos of you, as proof."
She stiffened. "Photos of what?"
"Of you, in white, playing the dutiful part of a Mother," he said, with
an edge to his words.
God damn. Where the hell did he get off? "You did what you had to in order
to survive," she said coldly. "So did I. Do you think I enjoy associating with
those beings? Interacting with Colonists, with women who've sold their souls
for the privilege of spreading their DNA, with people like that black-lunged
bastard who insists on paying me a visit every week? It eats away at me every
second I'm alive. But at least I'm alive to feel it." She pushed away from him
and rose from the bed, then began pacing, working off her anger, disgusted
that she could still feel his semen on her thighs. "Do you really want to know
how I spend my time, Mulder? Do you?"
"I want to know everything, Scully," he said brokenly. "Everything you're
willing to tell me."
She folded her arms across her chest, tried to keep the superior glare
from her face, but it didn't work. "I'm the goddamn head of the
resistance on the East Coast, Mulder. And what have you been up to?"
"Excuse me?" he asked blankly.
"I have been putting my life on the line every day for the past two years,"
she said coldly. "They've allowed me to continue to be a doctor - most
Mothers are content to just sit around and be catered to and throw tea parties,
but as you said yourself, I'm not most Mothers. I needed something, anything,
to give my life a shred of meaning beyond my existence as a walking used incubator.
So I'm in private practice, catering to the elite, and I use every free moment there
to work on developing a virus, a bio-weapon, designed to eradicate the slimies
from our planet once and for all. And I'm on the verge, Mulder. I'm on the
verge of blowing this whole colonization project sky-high. But if the fighting
doesn't calm down in Greenland and our core group is destroyed, it's all going
to be for shit. And I don't even know what's going on over there!" She heard
her voice raising and lowered it immediately, fearful of discovery.
"Skinner's over there, Mulder. Skinner's coordinating the movement over there,
and we'd been doing just fine, but the recent offensives have us at a loss. The
cold over there helps, of course, but it's not a definitive means of protection.
And I haven't been able to get any word through to him or back from him."
Mulder's jaw worked as he searched for something, anything, to say.
Finally: "I can get you information on Greenland."
She stopped mid-pace. "How? That bitch?"
To his credit he didn't flinch from her expression. "Yes. She and Strughold
are...close, if you know what I mean. And she trusts me far more than she
should. I can get you the information you need. Just give me a few days
once I get back."
She nodded slowly. "That would be...that would great." She played with
the hem of her nightshirt. "How could you get me the information?"
Mulder thought hard. "Give me Frohike's e-mail address. I can probably
find a secure T-1 line and contact him through it."
"Thank you," she said, feeling a rare, unguarded moment of optimism, yet
at the same time wondering if she could, in fact, trust him. But if she
couldn't trust Mulder, even after all this time, then she truly had nothing.
"So when do you have to go back?"
"In a few hours, or the shit's really going to hit the fan," he said. His eyes
bore into hers and she could feel his desire for her from across the room.
"Then let's not waste any more time," she said huskily. She went to him,
straddled him, and helped him slide inside of her as he whispered her
name and reached for her breasts and they surrendered to oblivion
once more.
Finding out the information Scully needed was more difficult than Mulder had
anticipated. He suspected it was partially due to the fact that he was having
trouble concentrating on the subtleties of his task; he was continually distracted
by memories of Scully and their all-too-brief night together and wanted nothing
more than to lose himself in them every waking moment. And on top of that,
Marita was in a singularly bitchy mood - more so than usual. For weeks all of
his half-hearted attempts to draw her out ended in the silent treatment, and he
began to get paranoid that somehow she knew on a weird psychic level that he
had seen Scully. He was going to have to take drastic action.
And so, late one night, after the lights were turned out, he swallowed his pride
and his dignity and his revulsion and covered her breast with his hand.
It was almost embarrassing, really, the way she didn't even question his motives,
the way she participated with gusto, crawling over him, riding him like a bronco.
He lay back and closed his eyes and focused on Scully, tried desperately to
remember how she had felt against him, the warmth of her lips, the soft down
of her hair.
He reflected that he finally knew how women had been made to feel throughout
the centuries: like a vessel to be used.
When it was over - and it took mercilessly long, since his response was purely a
physical one and not helped along by any ardor on his part - he took her in his
arms and engaged in some carefully worded pillow talk.
It worked. It worked so well that it only increased his disgust for her. Who knew
all she'd really needed was a mediocre lay?
Two days later, he sneaked into Marita's home office and used her secure modem
connection to send a message to Frohike.
Dana looked down at the small piece of paper that Rico had handed to her as soon
as she'd entered the lab adjacent to her doctor's office. The message was scrawled
in Frohike's chicken scratch; she was mildly surprised that he'd allowed anything
written in his own hand to escape his clutches.
"Mutual friend rang. Invasion imminent in Paamiut. Warn Hermes tout de suite."
She crumpled the paper, fighting back a wave of panic. Hermes was their code
name for Skinner; Paamiut their main base of operations. He'd have to relocate
his team to one of the other scattered towns on the coast of Buffin Bay, but
where exactly would have to be his decision. There was only so much she could
do from across the Atlantic.
Through the haze of her worry, she couldn't help but feel a pang that there had
been no personal message from Mulder. It was unlike him, wasn't it? Perhaps she
no longer knew him as well as she thought. She uncrumpled the paper and turned
it over in her hands, and saw that Frohike had indeed scribbled an addendum.
"ICED TEA??"
Unwanted tears stung her eyes, taking her breath away. How could he possibly
remember that long ago night?
::Mulder, I wouldn't put myself on the line for anybody but you.::
She bit back an ironic laugh at the realization that she now routinely put herself
on the line for millions of people she didn't even know. The weight of the world
wore heavily on her for a moment; then she shrugged.
But the sentiment lifted her heart all the same. She felt an unfamiliar twist
in her soul, and realized it was affection. It had been a long, long time since
she'd allowed herself to experience anything of the sort. "Rico?"
He was there immediately, her constant aide. His unquestioning loyalty to her
had ceased to be unnerving long before; now, she merely counted on and even
took advantage of his devotion to her. She looked up into his dark brown eyes
and handed him the paper. "I know how rough communications have been lately,
but we need to get this information to Hermes somehow, stat. He has to move.
Immediately. Location is at his discretion, so long as he notifies us when they've
set up again. I'm counting on you, Rico."
Rico nodded and took the paper from her, his quick mind no doubt already racing
with possible ways to contact the Greenland base. "Consider it done," he
murmured. She touched him on the arm in thanks, and he smiled at the boon.
When he had left she turned back to her lab book and studied the latest data
notated there. She was so close to a breakthrough she could almost taste it;
close to engineering a virus or antigen that would prove fatal to the Colonists
and the hybrids. The drones would presumably be safe, since they were merely
infected with the black oil; she'd already duplicated the vaccine that the Syndicate
had come up with some time ago, and the lab in Greenland was working on
producing mass quantities of it for worldwide distribution. The Syndicate might
be too fearful of alien reprisals to actually use the stuff, but she had no such
compunctions. But the time was not yet right; she needed the virus in addition to
the vaccine, or else there was no point. It was to be a two-pronged attack or
nothing at all. Still, she couldn't help but feel that she was continually racing
against the clock, and no one had told her about the deadline.
"Dr. Scully."
She whirled around, closing the book as she did so. "What the hell do you want?"
The black-lunged bastard wasn't smoking for a change; perhaps even he was
smart enough to figure out that a medical lab wasn't the best place for incendiaries.
"I was just wondering how your work is coming."
"My medical practice is doing just fine," she said smoothly. "Are you here for
a physical?"
"Sadly, no, as much as I might enjoy your...technique."
Dana fought back her revulsion and bit the inside of her cheek to keep from killing
him with her bare hands. Simply knowing that she could would have to do.
"In that case, I'm busy. Get out." She turned her back to him and pretended to
write up a patient's blood work, hoping he'd lose interest.
"Tell me. How is Fox? I haven't seen him in such a long time."
She stiffened for a moment; but if there was one thing she had accomplished
since the Arrival, it was raising the act of keeping her cool to an art form.
"If you're referring to Fox Mulder, I wouldn't know. I haven't seen him
since you bastards took him away, remember?" She barely managed
to stop herself from the words on the tip of her tongue: away from me.
"That's not what I hear."
"Well, then you heard wrong." She moved closer to the drawer at the end
of the lab table; she was pretty sure she'd left a spare revolver in there.
"If the two of you were to rekindle your acquaintance," he said quietly, "the
results could be deadly. For both you and Mulder."
She turned to face him, her hand reaching back to grasp the handle of
the drawer. "Are you threatening me? A Mother? You forget your
place in the new scheme of things. You touch one hair on my head and
the Colonists will be up your ass before you can even blink. You think I
don't know that's why I'm still alive in the first place?" She began to ease
the drawer open, centimeter by centimeter.
"Accidents do happen, Dr. Scully. But then, you already know all about
that, don't you?" He withdrew a cigarette from his pocket, eyed it lovingly.
"I'll be in touch. Just to check in, of course." He strolled out the door,
lighting up as he did so.
Dana bowed her head and closed her eyes, just for a moment, and took
a deep breath. Then she straightened and went back to work.
Mulder took one last drag on his cigarette before crushing it in the ashtray
at his elbow. He'd taken the habit up again about a year ago; persisted
in it partially because he couldn't bring himself to stop, partially because it
annoyed the hell out of Marita. At this point in his life he felt they were
equally valid reasons.
The living room was dark. He'd kept the lights off, even drawn the blinds
to keep out as much sunlight as possible. He needed the dark to think.
In his mind he replayed the events of the past three years of his life, forcing
himself to be brutal in his recollection. Ruthlessly examined his initial
resistance and the high idealism that had been all too easily supplanted by
inactivity, lack of motivation, acquiescence. Acceptance of the miserable
card he had drawn in the poker game of life.
He'd once told Scully that he didn't think he could go on alone, without her.
He had been right. She =had= kept him honest, and once they had ripped
her away from him, they'd taken everything that mattered as well.
Scully, on the other hand...Scully had risen to the occasion, although he
worried about the toll it seemed to have taken on her emotionally. Her
tenacity and drive made him unutterably ashamed.
He saw the way she had looked at him. With pity, and something akin to
disgust. He couldn't live with that. He could live, at this point, with nearly
anything - but not with her disdain.
He wanted to prove to her that the real Mulder still lurked within him, somewhere.
That despite the desperate, almost impersonal nature of their coupling, she had
resurrected him with her words and her body that night. He had felt alive for
the first time in years, all because of her.
And now that he was alive, he didn't want to be ashamed anymore.
The phone rang. He didn't want to pick it up. He knew who it would be.
But he had no choice.
He reached for the receiver. "Mulder."
"We have a job for you," the accented voice at the other end said without
preamble.
The last one, Mulder swore to himself. This is the last one, just so they don't
get suspicious, just to buy some time. And then come hell or high water I'm
going to be with Scully. I'll find a way. "Tell me."
"Dana, I need to speak with you."
Dana looked up from her cup of tea to see Frohike standing in the
doorway of the sitting room, his hands wringing in an uncharacteristic
gesture of unease. And he'd used the front door? Something must
be up. Thank god Kristina had already left following their late lunch.
Lisette hovered in the doorway behind him, eyeing the small man with
a hint of suspicion. "Go," Dana told the drone, then waited until she
had departed obediently. "What is it, Frohike?"
He looked around nervously before taking a seat in the Louis XIV chair
across from her. "Your surveillance has been upped," he said in hushed
tones. "I think They're suspicious of you. Seeing Mulder was a big
mistake."
She shook her head impatiently. "They couldn't possibly know. You're
being paranoid."
"Am I? Then how come Freddie's gained some new friends the past few
days?" he shot back. "Are you putting on a show in your bedroom window
and not inviting me? I'm crushed."
"More hybrids?" she said, feeling for the first time a glint of worry. "I
would have noticed, I --"
"Not even," he said, cutting her off. He fidgeted in his seat, pulling at his
trademark fingerless gloves. "They're morphers. They've got morphers on
you, Dana. I know you don't want to hear this, but I think it's time we put
Plan Hippolyta into action."
She shook her head, belying the panic that now threatened to consume
her. "No. Impossible. I'm so close, Frohike. I'm not going to abandon
my work. I'm not going to abandon my people -- they need me =here.="
"They need you alive," he said harshly.
She regarded him for a moment, marveling at how close she had become
to this man. She knew how he was feeling - since Byers and Langly had
been infected and shipped off to the mines, and since Mulder was gone,
she was all that Frohike had left. But she had responsibilities higher than
her friendship with him. "I'm not leaving," she said quietly, in a tone that
brooked no argument.
He sighed wearily. "Fine. But I want you to take this." He placed a
microchip in the palm of her hand, then folded her fingers over it.
"It's a disrupter, hot off the black market. Interferes with any bugs,
so even if my guys miss something, no one will be able to translate
the garble. I want you to put this in your bedroom."
Dana felt an unaccustomed blush dangerously close to the surface of her
cheeks. "Mulder's gone, Frohike. He's not going to be climbing in through
my window any time soon."
"Just take it," he insisted. "And I'm going to do another sweep while I'm
here."
"Rico did one yesterday," she protested.
"I'm not Rico."
"So I noticed." They shared a slow smile. "Okay, Merlin, work your
magic," she said, relenting.
Mulder couldn't believe his luck: they were sending him back to DC.
He studied the dossier Strughold had passed along to him with a
practiced eye. This job was an unusual one, and it had him a little
worried. Assassinations were one thing; blowing up a house full of
people was quite another. There was going to be a much greater loss
of life than he was normally accustomed to meting out. But whenever
he thought of reneging, he remembered the puckered pink scar on Scully's
thigh.
Just one more, he told himself for the thousandth time. And then... Well,
he didn't know what then. Hadn't figured out yet how he was going to go
to Scully again and offer her his services, all without anyone discovering
his intentions. He hadn't come up with a foolproof plan in three years; he
wasn't sure why he was optimistic enough to think he'd come up with
something now.
He looked back down at the file in front of him, trying to bring his mind
back to more immediate concerns. Apparently a small local politician who
was a member of the resistance had been identified, and Strughold had secured
the information that the subject was planning on attending a dinner party
at the home of a provisional governor next week. The idea was to set off a
bomb, killing everyone inside, in order to make it look like a terrorist
action rather than an assassination. Although the file didn't say so,
Mulder suspected that there were going to be Colonists there as well,
thus the need for the subterfuge.
As always when undertaking a new job, he allowed himself just a
moment to reflect on just how much his moral code had deteriorated,
and how quickly. But in this life, morality was a luxury he was no
longer able to afford. The only precept that mattered any more was
Dana Scully.
"I really don't want to go to this," Dana muttered, scowling at the
engraved invitation she held.
"If you refuse, you will look even more suspicious," Rico pointed out.
She threw him a frustrated look, knowing he was right but not wanting to
admit it. Instead, she fanned herself with the invitation and wished she
was back inside in the air conditioning. The heat in DC this June seemed
even worse than usual this year, and had come upon them with surprising
swiftness. Good for the Colonists, lousy for humans. Her white sleeveless
cotton dress stuck to her in all the wrong places, making her feel as
conspicuous as a stripper in a convent. Rico's surreptitious looks at her
body weren't helping.
They had decided to take a walk along the reflecting pool, not far from the
mockery that was the Lincoln Memorial, in an attempt to avoid all possible
listening devices. Felix hovered about a dozen yards away, ducking behind
the occasional tree, as if they didn't know full well that he was there. He
kept up the charade, she had to give him that. Colonist Troops slithered by
from time to time, but her white gown pretty much insured that no one would
be harassing her; one of the many reasons the privileges of her rank were
useful from time to time. This section of DC was also one of the few areas
where humans could still be spotted; many of the low-level government employees
and politicians were kept around to help keep order among those few remaining
Americans who hadn't been infected with the virus and shipped off to the
mines or the farms or the forests or other assorted labor camps to harvest
raw materials for the Colonists' home planet.
She supposed she should be thankful, in a way - there were many parts of the
world, particularly the hottest sections of Africa and South America, that had
been completely overrun by the Colonists' more feral and vicious evolutionary
cousins, the ones Mulder had encountered in the bowels of the alien ship in
Antarctica. At least those creatures hadn't reached the U.S., and there were
humans left here and there.
But Dana occasionally wondered if everyone she had known in her former life -
her cousins, her college friends, her colleagues from the Academy and the
Bureau - were all even now slaving away underground, or harvesting wheat, or
chopping down trees or God knew what other kind of hard labor as black oil
swam over their eyes and they slowly starved to death from mistreatment.
And then she hoped that they were dead, instead, like her mother. Or that
she would someday be able to save them all.
She sighed wearily and finally responded to Rico. "You're right, of course.
I'll call him myself to RSVP."
"Good. I'm going with you as your escort."
She shook her head. "Out of the question."
"Dana, I'm not letting you go in there alone. Not with --" He looked around,
then bent down to her ear and lowered his voice. "Not with the concerns
that Frohike has raised."
"Not you too," she said. She looked up at him and smiled. "Look. I know
you're worried. But I'm going to be fine. I know what I'm doing."
His dark eyes flashed and he pursed his full lips. God, he had sexy lips. She'd
often wished she was more physically attracted to her Cuban friend; it certainly
wasn't due to any failing on his part. "Are you making it an order?" he asked,
his voice carefully drained of emotion. He looked down at his loafers.
"Rico, don't be that way. I know that you just want me to be safe, and I appreciate
it. But you have to trust me. I can handle it."
The tension between them passed as quickly as it had arisen; he was never able to
stay angry with her for very long. He raised his head and met her gaze. "Okay.
If you say so, Superwoman," he said reluctantly. "Now let's get back inside. It's
too damn hot out here." He returned her smile, and for a moment he thought he
might touch her, even reach out for her hand. But he wasn't Mulder; he never
engaged in the affectionate, casual physical contact that Mulder had made look
so effortless.
She rubbed her arms absently, realizing just how much she missed it.
Mulder set up shop in an abandoned motel on the outskirts of DC proper
in preparation for his next hit. Although steeped in his work, just the thought
of possibly being able to see Scully once more had put him in a better mood
than he'd been in for years; he actually caught himself whistling at one point.
In the back of his mind he noted the irony of whistling while constructing a
bomb, but refused to examine it more closely.
When he was finished, he took a moment to sit back and examine his handiwork.
Not bad for someone without any previous training in explosives. The thugs
at the Syndicate had taught him well. The timing mechanism was a thing
of beauty and finesse; Bobby, his mentor in these matters, would have
been proud.
Scully probably wouldn't.
He shoved the thought from his mind. He was doing this =for= Scully, to
be with Scully, to keep her safe, and losing sight of those facts would only
lead to madness.
He wondered what she was doing at that moment, and if she was by any
chance thinking of him.
"I think he's coming around," Dana said tensely.
The small cluster of men and women watched with baited breath
as the black oil slowly cleared from Harrison Fields' eyes. He remained
still on the cot for an endless moment, then jerked straight up, looking
around wildly. Dana gripped his arms. "It's all right," she said soothingly.
"You're among friends. You're safe now. Just sit still."
He struggled with her for a minute more before awareness finally
set in, then he went limp under her hands and relaxed. "Where...
where am I?" he asked.
Dana placed her fingers on the man's wrist to take his pulse. "You're
in the back room of a dress shop that caters exclusively to Mothers.
What most people don't know is that it also doubles as a resistance
pit stop. No one thinks twice about my coming in here, and I'd like
to keep it that way." Her eyes darted over to Maggie Collins, owner
of said dress shop, who merely nodded in agreement.
"You're feeling disoriented because you've just been cured of the alien
virus with a vaccine I developed. You can relax; you're among allies
now."
His brown eyes shifted about as he struggled for answers. "I have
memories of a dark shaft --"
"You were working in the coal mines in the Appalachians," Rico
interjected as Dana focused on her work, taking the man's vitals,
listening to his heartbeat and his lungs with her stethoscope. "Our
spies at your location took you one night and brought you to us.
We're more well connected than you might think."
"But why?"
Dana looked over her latest acquisition, appreciating the fact that he
was quite handsome, in a rugged sort of way. Weathered. Lived-in,
was how her mother would put it. She closed her eyes briefly to banish
Margaret Scully from her mind. "We need more scientists to help me
develop our own virus, something that will make this planet poison to
the Colonists, or simply kill them outright. You are a brilliant scientist,
Dr. Fields, and now you've been given a second chance to prove it."
He returned her gaze with shining eyes. "How can I refuse? You
saved me."
The expression on his face was all too familiar. The gratitude and the
admiration were becoming almost annoying by this point. She glanced
over at Rico, who, aware of her discomfort, was stifling an amused grin.
"And I fully intend for you to repay the favor," she said to Fields, her tone
colder than she intended.
But he only smiled and took her hands in his. "I'm at your disposal."
"Good." She returned the smile with an effort. "Because I have a party
to go to tonight, and I'd like you to get some work done in my absence."
Mulder took shelter behind a row of untamed bushes and sat down
to wait, his eyes never leaving the impressive Tudor house on the
opposite side of the street. Things had gone off without a hitch so
far; Strughold had tipped him off to the fact that the entire household
was attending an Education Session that morning, and so placing the
explosive device on the premises had been a matter of little difficulty.
As this house was the only one on the block still occupied by living beings,
being spotted by the neighbors was a moot point. The occasional rat or
king-sized cockroach that scurried across the sidewalk was his only
company in the silence.
He lit up a cigarette and drew smoke into his lungs. There was nothing
left to do but watch and wait.
Dana went over the contingency plan one more time in her head
as her limo threaded its way toward the Howard estate. Rico had
insisted on their preparing some sort of strategy in case things didn't
go well that evening. He did so every time she went anywhere other
than work or the house or headquarters, and she had no choice but to
indulge him. He was right, and besides, she owed him that much,
considering how nervous he was about tonight. And so a small
number of their operatives were on standby a few blocks away at one
of the Metro stations that had been converted into a waystation for
fugitives, refugees, and fellow resistance members.
She didn't anticipate a need to flee, however. Martin Howard was a self-
absorbed despot, so preoccupied with what little power over what was left
of Washington DC that the Colonists had parceled out to him that he had
little time or inclination to look much further than his own nose. Her
presence at his formal dinner tonight would be one of adornment and
prestige; having a Mother present at one of your affairs not only made
you look good to the Colonists as They valued Mothers above all else,
but it showed that you were supportive of the new regime, and not afraid to
flaunt it. Being Howard's physician, she was an obvious choice to fulfill
that role for him, and as Rico pointed out, it would have reflected badly on
her had she refused the invitation. She hoped she'd at least get a decent
meal out of the bargain.
As the car rolled up to the curb in front of Howard's stately home,
she glanced at the driver's seat; Rico had insisted on taking her tonight
instead of her usual driver. So paranoid, he was. He reminded her,
once in a while, just slightly, of Mulder.
Mulder.
She had thought of him all too often since their brief night together. God,
his newfound talents and knowledge would be a huge asset to their cause,
and she didn't just mean his considerable prowess in bed. How could she
outwit Strughold and get Mulder to come to her, to help her, to stay with her
on her own terms, despite the Syndicate's threats? There had to be a way.
Her feelings toward him were still complicated, to say the least, but she had
to put the resistance first. And the resistance needed him.
Well, now that she'd cured Fields, she would have more time and brain
power to devote to such matters. She'd chosen well this time. Fields was
lucky she'd thought of him.
Not bothering to wait for Rico to come around, she opened the car door
and stepped outside. She was already more than fashionably late.
From his hiding place across the street Mulder looked on in horror.
Dana Scully was getting out of the limo that had just pulled up in front of
Howard's house, and was heading up the walk toward the front door.
Toward the front door of a house that was scheduled to blow to kingdom
come in about five minutes thanks to his expertise.
Mulder didn't think; didn't stop for one minute to consider the possible
consequences of his actions. He just took off like a bat out of hell and
prayed he wouldn't be too late.
"SCULLY!"
She whirled around before she reached the front porch, her jaw dropping
as she saw him, and as he drew closer he could see her mouth a curse.
"There's a bomb!" he yelled.
He whipped out his Glock seconds before her ubiquitous tail jumped out of
his car and started in their direction. Mulder took aim over Scully's head and
fired. His aim had become near-perfect during his professional hitman tenure;
the nondescript man fell to the ground and didn't get up again. Scully
instinctively hit the deck, her long white gown marred with dirt and grass
stains when she staggered to her feet once more.
"Get in the car!" the limo driver was yelling from the front seat, engine
running.
Mulder looked over the hood of the car and spotted two morphers materializing
out of the darkness, crossing from the other side of the street, guns drawn.
Where the fuck had they come from?
"Scully, get in the car!" he echoed the chauffeur, then aimed and fired at the
aliens, even though he knew it wouldn't do any good. It would distract them,
at least. He ducked behind the shelter of the limo as a laser bolt whizzed over
his head. He had a stiletto in his back pocket, of course, but didn't plan on them
getting close enough for him to use it. "God damn it Scully, get in the car!"
Scully finally made her way to the vehicle and threw herself inside,
leaving the back door open for Mulder. He jumped in behind her, letting out
his breath only when the limo peeled away into the night, screeching
against the asphalt.
They were about a block away when the house blew, the booming explosion
spewing smoke and ash and flame and lighting up the night with a yellow and
orange glow. He and Scully instinctively crouched down in the back seat at the
initial concussion, then straightened and watched the display through the rear
window. He let out a low, appreciative whistle for a job well done in spite of
himself. As much as he hated fire, he had an objective admiration of the sheer
spectacle of it.
"Christ," Scully whispered. "Was that...did you do that, Mulder?"
He looked at her and nodded, a bizarre mixture of pride and shame flowing
through him at the surprise in her eyes.
"Pyrotechnic expert now," she said absently as she faced forward in her seat
once more. She looked as if she were adding the information to a mental list.
"Interesting."
"Dana, are you okay?" the driver asked.
"I'm fine, Rico. Are you taking us to the waystation?" There was such
comfortable familiarity in her voice when she spoke to him; Mulder felt
an intense, irrational surge of jealousy. Who was this guy? He was
apparently more to her than just the chauffeur.
"We have to, Dana. I think...I think it's time for Hippolyta." Even without
knowing the man, Mulder could hear the trepidation in his voice. He could
relate to the feeling that came with telling Scully something you knew she
wasn't going to want to hear.
"Dammit, no!" she yelled with such vehemence that Mulder pulled back from
her in reflex. "I have to stay here. Now that we have Fields, our work is going
to move so quickly, I just know it. Rico, we're on the =verge= --"
"No." The word was said with such finality Mulder wondered how Scully
could possibly continue to question it. "Your cover's been blown, Dana," Rico
said matter-of-factly. "You think that the morphers headed our way didn't see
Mulder save you? Didn't see you run off with him? It's over, Dana. You can
go help Skinner in Greenland. He needs you over there anyway. You probably
should have gone sooner. You know that Frohike and I can run things from
here."
She thrummed her fingers on the armrest. "God damn you to hell, Fox
Mulder."
He jerked as if stung. "Excuse me?"
She shot him a look of such venom that he shriveled inside. "This is all
your fault. If it weren't for your lack of balls and your errand boy tactics,
I wouldn't be in this situation right now. I'd be pumping Martin Howard
like a pro for the latest news, eating a nice dinner, and then I'd get to go home
and check up on some new lab trials I came up with this afternoon. Dammit!"
"Fine. I apologize for saving your life. It won't happen again," Mulder
said caustically. "Maybe I shouldn't have bothered to do the same in
Antarctica, either, huh?"
Silence enveloped them. She didn't look at him. "That was a low blow,
Mulder," she said finally.
"So was yours."
"Touché." She ran a hand through her hair. "Who was your target
tonight?" she asked quietly, as if something had just occurred to her.
"I don't -" Realization dawned, and he swallowed around the lump in his
throat. "They didn't tell me, exactly. Just a resistance leader that they knew
would be at Howard's house tonight. Jesus, Scully --"
"You were the target, Dana," Rico interrupted. "=Madre de Dios.= We need
to get you out of here, the sooner the better."
"Looks that way, doesn't it?" she said tightly. "Well, Mulder, I'm not sure
that saving my life counts when you would have been the one to kill me
in the first place."
Mulder had no response for that. He just sat there and grimly catalogued
all the ways he would murder Strughold if he ever ran into him again.
Scully threw him a sour glance, then turned her attention back to Rico.
"Are we there yet?"
"This is the place," he answered.
The car pulled up to a Metro station in a particularly abandoned and seedy
section of town. Mulder doubted that even the most desperate scavengers
would dare to venture over here. Electricity no longer existed in this
devastated part of the city; the only light emanated from the car's headlights
and the full moon that shone in the night sky. The gloom and desolation
were palpable and unnerving.
"You're going to have to stay here for a few days, until we can make
overseas arrangements for the both of you," Rico said. "Ari's down there,
waiting. I'll get word to her as soon as I can."
Mulder opened his car door, but Scully didn't move. "You're not coming
back, are you," she said softly to the man in the driver's seat.
"I...don't know. I don't think I can risk it," he said.
She looked down at her hands, fidgeted with the cloth of her gown for
a moment, then, as if worried she might change her mind if she didn't
act immediately, she leaned over the front seat and kissed him swiftly
on the cheek. "Thank you," Mulder heard her whisper. "For everything."
Rico regarded her steadily. "You know I'd do anything for you."
She nodded. "I know." The two of them looked at each other a moment
more, and a powerful wave of jealousy crashed over Mulder again. Why
did this guy have to be so damn good-looking?
Scully finally turned to him. "Let's go," she said, gathering her skirt around
her, her voice suddenly blanched of emotion, as if she had an on/off switch.
Maybe the Colonists had installed one?
They exited the car and slowly made their way down the dank, crumbling stairs
of the Metro station, reluctantly clinging to the slimy banister in the dark.
When they reached the bottom step, they froze. There was nothing but
utter blackness in every direction. "Now what?" Mulder whispered. The
damp, clammy air chilled him to the bone despite the summer heat, and he
had to suppress a shiver.
"Just wait," was the calm reply.
Seconds later he could make out an old-fashioned torch headed toward
them, bobbing in the pool of black. "Identify yourself," a loud, gravelly
female voice commanded.
"Daphne and Apollo," Scully said, apparently invoking some sort of
predetermined code.
"Dana?" The torch came closer until they could actually see its bearer,
a tall, olive-skinned woman with acne scars, whose ebony hair melted
into the darkness around her. Mulder guessed her to be late 30s, of
Greek descent. Her dark eyes had a cold, distrustful edge to them that
was all too common these days.
And at the moment, that distrust was aimed squarely at him. "Who's he?"
she asked with a jerk of her head. "Where's Rico?"
"Rico's gone back to headquarters to put an overseas package together for us,"
Scully said. "It's time for Operation Hippolyta. Unfortunately."
"What?" The woman really gave Mulder the evil eye now. "It's his fault, isn't
it. Is this Fox Mulder?"
"The pleasure's all mine," Mulder said dryly, resenting the disdain in her
expression, yet at the same time wondering just what kind of horror stories
Scully had told her about him that he merited such a reputation.
"Mulder's coming with me," Scully said. Mulder looked down at her,
mildly surprised that she had just assumed. Not that she was wrong,
of course. In spite of the horror of her near-death and the hurried action
they were now taking, he found himself thrilled beyond reckoning:
Finally, with Scully. For good. Where he belonged.
The woman looked him up and down again, then forced a small smile.
"In that case, welcome aboard, Mr. Mulder. Any friend of Dana's is to
be trusted, I'm sure. You can call me Ari."
She extended her hand and he shook it, noting the hard calluses on her
hands. He wondered if she had spent time in an alien labor camp before
hooking up with Scully. "Just Mulder, please. It's good to meet you, Ari."
"Ari is a former military scientist and a munitions expert of the highest
order," Scully informed him. "She and her resourcefulness have saved our
hides on numerous occasions. She helped develop the Kitovas bullet."
Mulder started in surprise. The Kitovas bullet was the only projectile
developed by humans that was capable of penetrating the Colonists' body
armor. It was his turn to look her up and down. "So you're -- "
"Ariadne Kitovas, yes. Now, if you'll follow me..." She turned and headed
back into the darkness. Mulder and Scully kept as close to her as
possible so as to not get lost in the gloom. When he reached out for
Scully's hand in the dark, he was relieved that she didn't pull away.
Dana gripped Mulder's hand tightly and bit back the scream that hovered on
the edge of her throat. It was like some sort of waking nightmare, having to
so abruptly leave behind her home - such as it was; her friends - such as they
were -- Rico, Frohike...her work... She'd always known this was a very real
possibility, but she'd hoped she'd at least have some warning beforehand. She
wondered if there was any way that Rico would be able to get some of her
personal belongings to her before she had to leave. She knew that he would
if it were at all possible.
It was staggering, actually, how much the thought of leaving Rico behind
hurt. She'd thought herself closed off sufficiently that these things wouldn't
affect her any longer.
But, if she were to be honest with herself, she knew full well why she was
so easily moved these days. Knew what had happened to make her vulnerable
to emotions and sadness once more. In their one night together Mulder had
unlocked things that she had kept buried deep inside of her for a long time.
She didn't know whether to be resentful or grateful for it. She was still angry
with him, angry with the situation, but at the same time had to keep reminding
herself that his presence here was not a dream or a particularly vivid fantasy.
It was all excruciatingly confusing.
"We're here." Ari's alto voice snapped her back to reality seconds before
they turned the corner and were greeted by a bath of electric light. She
blinked against the brightness after the utter dark and felt Mulder's hand
reluctantly leave hers.
Somehow they'd managed to get the emergency lights in the tunnels
working. Yellow lighting illuminated the derelict Metro station with an
unearthly glow, casting strange shadows on the peeling, outdated
advertisements and making the neglected turnstiles gleam. "Where is
everyone?"
"We have to go into the tunnel," Ari explained. "We've got a camp set
up back there, plus there are all of these abandoned switch stations
and service rooms that we've managed to make into livable rooms of a
sort. It's a regular home away from home." She snorted in disgust.
"Come on, follow me." She squatted at the edge of the platform, then
jumped down, her torch blazing. "Careful not to touch the third rail.
We're not sure how active it still is, but better safe than sorry."
Mulder and Dana followed suit, though Dana had to hold her high
heels in her hand before doing so. Ari let out a harsh laugh. "We've
got extra shoes back there, I think. And some non-white clothing so
you can dress like us commoners. If you want to, that is."
"If I never wear white again, it'll be too soon," Dana muttered under
her breath as she slipped her shoes back on her feet. She glanced at
Mulder, and realized what a study in contrasts they must make: her
petite, light form robed in white; his tall, dark form clothed all in black.
She also realized that he was staring at her.
"Light and dark," he whispered.
Damn him for being a mind-reader.
They trudged their way through the tunnels, Dana trying not to stumble
as her heels caught on slime and sludge and god knew what else. Ari
made her way forward swiftly, unerringly, and Dana wondered just how
long the older woman had been cooped up down here. The members
of her group tended to rotate locations; she wasn't sure when Ari had
left Baltimore to come here. They'd lost touch once Ari had gone
underground; Rico tended to handle communications from that point.
It was only a few minutes before they reached a spacious clearing nestled
in between two sets of tracks. A camp of sorts had been constructed with
care: army-issue tents, battery-operated lanterns, even a portable grill or
two. An old-fashioned tape player emitted the lonely sounds of a vintage
Billy Joel tune. Men and women moved about quietly, speaking softly to
each other, cleaning their weapons, playing cards around one of the lanterns.
At the sound of the trio's approach they all sprang to attention, guns at the
ready.
"It's just us," Ari called out immediately, putting them at ease. Guns
were lowered to the ground and half-hearted greetings carried over
to them across the fetid air. When they reached the heart of the camp
itself, a cluster of people quickly formed around them. Dana could
hear her name being passed around from one set of lips to another.
"Yes, it's me," she said loudly, cutting off any further speculation.
Glances were exchanged among them, and she wondered if she lived
up to whatever unrealistic expectations they may have had. She
gazed back at them in return, looking them over appraisingly. Ragtag
seemed to have been invented with this group in mind. She counted
ten men and eight women of various races and backgrounds, dressed
in jeans and faded flannel, with limp hair and dirty fingernails. "I'm
afraid that I don't know most of you, although I do recognize some friendly
faces." She tried to smile, to look optimistic. Tried to remember what it
was like talking to people who had no hidden agendas. "I wasn't planning
on having to come here tonight, but plans changed," she continued. She
gestured to Mulder. "This is Fox Mulder."
At that, surprised murmuring struck up among them once more. Mulder
probably would have been horrified to know that, through no doing of hers,
his name had become legendary among the underground, on the scale
of King Arthur; they'd latched on to him as the martyr who would one
day come back to save them all. If only they knew the truth, she
thought acidly. "He's going to be staying with me...with us, until Rico
secures passage for us both to Greenland. I'm going to have to join Hermes
and continue my work from there," she said, invoking Skinner's
code name, as not everyone was allowed to know the name of the man
spearheading the international resistance movement. "I...look forward
to getting to know all of you until then," she lied. She had nothing else
to say to these people. Speech over, she looked to Ari for further
instruction, feeling strangely out of control.
Ari took up the cue like the professional she was. "Okay people, as you
were. Keisha?" A young black woman in the front of the gathered crowd
nodded. "I'm going to be bunking in your tent tonight so these two can
have my quarters in the station room."
"Ari, I wouldn't think of putting you out --" Dana began.
"Dana, no arguments. It's the least I can do for you, isn't it?"
Dana recognized the look in the woman's eyes, the same look she got
so often from Rico, the look she had received from Harrison Fields
just a few hours earlier. There was no point in arguing with the faithful.
"Thank you," she said instead.
Ari tossed off a casual salute. "Follow me."
She led them toward a grimy metal door built into one side of the tunnel,
labeled "Supply Station" in stenciled lettering. "This used to be a utility
closet of sorts for the Metro construction crews," Ari explained as she
opened the door and went inside. "We cleaned out all the equipment
and managed to make it somewhat livable. Even scrounged some useful
tools for ourselves in the process." She pulled on a cord and a naked bulb
lit up the tiny space.
Dana tried not to turn up her nose at the sight that greeted them. A lumpy
cot was shoved in one corner; the rest of the room was taken up with a
metal filing cabinet, assorted munitions, maps, a couple cases of vitamin
shakes, and a tiny ice cooler.
"Home sweet home," Ari said, grimacing, realizing how it must look to
someone like Dana.
"It's perfect," Dana lied. "Thanks again."
"No problem. You guys hungry, want something to eat?"
Dana glanced up at Mulder, who nodded. "Anything you have would
be great," she told the other woman.
"Canned stuff, mostly, but it's edible. I'll be back in a minute. I'll bring you
some clothes, too, Dana," she said.
Silence enveloped them once Ari had left. Mulder, who had been
uncharacteristically quiet through all of this, finally spoke. "I'm sorry."
Dana blinked, taken aback for a moment, but she recovered quickly.
"For what? For tonight? For screwing up my plans and my life?
Well, you should be."
He scuffed his shoes on the cement floor. "This was going to be my
last job," he said quietly. "I'd planned to come to you right after. I'd
made up my mind to take my chances and be with you."
That did stop her cold. "Even though they'd threatened me?"
He shrugged, unable to look at her. "I thought that maybe I'd be able
to protect you, if I was with you."
"Well, you've done a bang-up job so far," she said snidely.
He headed for the door. "Look, I'm just going to go crash with one of
those guys out there tonight, okay?"
"Mulder, don't." He hesitated, his hand hovering over the knob. "I...I
don't want you to go." Such an effort it was to admit it.
"Scully --" He was cut off by the reappearance of Ari, who was laden
down with a tray of food. Mulder took it from her so that she could hand
the clothes draped over her arm to Dana.
"Here. They're Keisha's. She's the shortest one here, so hopefully
they'll fit."
Dana rolled her eyes. "Thanks." She looked down at the clothes.
Jeans. When was the last time she had worn jeans? "I'm sure
they'll be fine. Please thank Keisha for me."
"We're all happy to help," Ari assured her. "Sleep well." And then
she was gone once more.
Mulder put the tray down on the floor, sat cross-legged in front of
it. "Well, it's better than the stuff I usually make for myself," he said,
obviously trying to lighten the mood.
"Marita doesn't cook for you?" she bit out before she could stop herself.
The wounded look in his eyes chastened her. "Forget it," she murmured.
She looked down at the tray, which was filled with heated canned
ravioli, some canned carrots, and bottled water for both of them. "We're
lucky to have anything," she said, trying to conceal her dismay at the
paltry, tasteless food she'd be eating for dinner tonight instead of a full
course meal at Howard's. She stood up and pulled her formal gown up
over her head, then shook out the jeans and t-shirt.
"I know," she heard him say, followed by a quick intake of breath.
Oh. She hadn't thought to be modest, but realized in retrospect she
probably should have, considering the tension between them. Too
late now. She pulled on Keisha's clothes, then turned to see
him staring at her, the gleam of desire all too evident in his eyes.
She felt something pulse in her abdomen in response.
"Let's eat," she said, pulling her eyes from his and sitting down across
from him.
Mulder tried with every shred of will and mental trick he had in his
arsenal to make his hard-on go back down. The sight of Scully wearing
nothing but a white lacy bra and underpants had nearly been enough to
send him right over the edge. He was becoming increasingly annoyed
with and disturbed by her behavior, but that didn't negate the fact that
he still wanted her desperately. He wished it did.
He tried to focus instead on his food. He was so hungry that Chef
Boyardee tasted like gourmet fare right about now. He looked at
Scully askance, saw that she was having a rougher go of it. Probably
a lot more pedestrian than what she was used to being served up at
the manor. He wisely kept the thought to himself.
They ate in silence, neither of them knowing what to say, where to begin.
Mulder was embarrassed, hurt, and confused, and didn't know how to
make her understand what he was going through or where he was coming
from. Everything had seemed so much simpler a few hours ago.
When they finished eating, he pushed the tray aside and looked at her.
"We really need to talk," he said finally. He fished in his pockets for a
Marlboro and his lighter, then lit up and inhaled deeply.
"I know." She raised an eyebrow at him. "Do you have to do that in
here?"
He glared at her. What the hell difference was one quick smoke
going to make? He took a couple of more deep drags, ignoring her
stony expression, then stubbed it out on the tray. What he really
wanted was a stiff drink, but somehow he didn't think Ari had stocked
the mini-bar.
He looked back at Scully, who was obviously waiting for him to go
first. A snide remark sprang to mind, but he suppressed it. What came
out instead was, "I don't know who you are any more, Scully." It wasn't
what he had meant to say, but once the words left his mouth he realized
it was what had been preoccupying him ever since that night in her
bedroom. This new Scully scared him, discomfited him, even intimidated
him, and he didn't like it. Scully had always been strong-willed and
courageous, and often emotionally distant, but never this hard and cold.
The words hung in the air between them as Scully visibly scrambled for
a response. "A lot has happened in the past three years," she said in a
frighteningly neutral tone of voice. "I've had to make some changes to
survive. To get by." She met his eyes. "If I hadn't, I probably would have
killed myself by now."
The words were a knife in his heart. "The thought that you were alive
somewhere was the only thing that kept me from doing the same," he
said honestly.
"Mulder..." She stood up and walked away from him, hugging herself
forlornly. The gesture made her look surprisingly girlish, and reminded
him with a start that she was in fact a few years younger than he was.
"How am I supposed to respond to that?" she asked, with her back to him.
"I hate it when you say things like that. It's not my responsibility if you've
decided that I'm your only reason for living. I didn't ask for it. I don't
even want it." She paused, and when she spoke again her voice was rough
with emotion. "It's too much to ask of me, especially after all that's
happened."
"I've never asked anything of you, Scully," he said, struggling to
understand.
There was a long, long silence. Then: "Maybe that's the problem," she
said, and sniffled loudly. "Maybe you should have. Or maybe I should
have asked more of you. Maybe then you would have found a way to
be with me, instead of abandoning me to this life that the Colonists have
forced upon me."
So that was the heart of the matter. "I thought I was doing the right thing.
The one thing that would keep you alive," he said earnestly. "I thought...
you were always the strong one. I knew that you could go on without me."
"And I have." She turned back to him, finally, and her eyes were glacier
cold. "Is that what bothers you, Mulder? The fact that I have carved
something of a life for myself out of this hellhole, that I've found meaning
and purpose, even though I didn't have you to lead the way?"
"That's not what bothers me at all," he said quietly. "What bothers me
is that you've let this life turn you from a compassionate, courageous,
inspiring woman into an unfeeling, megalomaniacal, self-centered bitch."
His words took a moment to sink in, and when they did, her face contorted
with rage. "How dare you speak to me that way!" she seethed. "Don't you
know who you're talking to? You're talking to a Moth-- A -- Oh god." She
brought her hands up to her face, touched herself as if trying to remember
who she was. "Oh god." She gasped for air, fell down onto the cot, buried
her face in her hands, and started sobbing.
"Jesus, Scully." Dana Scully, emotional roller coaster. Who knew? He
got up and sat down next to her on the cot and took her into his arms. She
cried into his chest, soaking his t-shirt, as he kissed the top of her head and
whispered meaningless reassurances. "Shh. It's okay. It's okay. Just let it
out." He could feel tears pricking his own eyes, and made no move to
check them.
She cried for a short while longer, clinging to him, until her heaving
shoulders subsided and she was able to take deep, shuddering breaths.
He left her long enough to pluck a napkin from their food tray, then
went back to holding her while she blew her nose and wiped her tears.
"I'm so embarrassed," she whispered, not looking at him.
He caressed her cheek with his thumb. "You know you never have to be
embarrassed in front of me. Besides, you needed that, I think."
"Maybe I did." She pulled back from his embrace, still having trouble
meeting his eyes. "I can't even remember the last time I cried."
"I'm not surprised. Look, I'm sorry, about what I said before. I was
out of line."
She shook her head. "No, you weren't. Everything you said is true.
I've become so used to being this figurehead. I'm not sure that I even
know who I am any more. It's not a comfortable realization."
"You're not the only one in need of some soul searching," he told her
after a pause. "I've been my own personal punching bag for a long time
now. Scully, you've done so much on your own, and I...I fell apart
without you. Just like they always knew I would."
"We've all done some things we're not proud of," Scully said lowly.
"Me more than most," he insisted. "But I do feel that, deep down inside,
I'm still the same person I was three years ago. That may be nothing more
than self-delusion, but I hope it's true. Can you say the same?"
She didn't answer him for a long time. "I don't know. You're the only
person around who really knew me, before. Why don't you tell me?"
"Why don't you let me find out?" He grabbed her hands and leaned in
closer to her, trying to force her to meet his eyes. "Let me in, Scully,"
he entreated. He reflected that the last time they had been together he
had fucked her thoroughly; tonight he wanted nothing more than to
make love to her. Needed to, in order to break through the walls she
had so assiduously constructed around her heart.
She looked up at him, and her gaze locked onto his. She seemed to be
searching his eyes for the man she once knew, and he tried his hardest
to convey to her that he was still the same man who had once been her
partner and closest friend. That he still cared for her. Loved her
hopelessly. And that that would never, ever change.
Finally, something like recognition flickered in her stare. She drew in
a ragged breath and reached up to trace the line of his jaw bone.
"Mulder..."
He breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps there was hope for her after all.
He placed one hand on the back of her neck and lowered his lips to hers
for a soft, tender kiss. Her mouth worked gently beneath his with surprising
delicacy. He didn't push her, just moved his mouth softly against hers,
tracing her lips with his tongue, drinking her in. He smoothed her hair
beneath his fingers with something akin to reverence. She leaned into him,
pressing her body up against him, and her hands tangled in the hair at the
nape of his neck. She felt so fragile and small that he was suddenly
possessed with an irrational urge to hold her close and protect her, even
though she was probably the last person who needed someone else to
watch out for her.
Although, he reflected, perhaps she did. Perhaps she needed protection
against herself. He certainly knew that feeling all too well.
He moved his lips from her mouth to her cheek, her nose, her forehead,
her temples, showering her with kisses, each one a declaration of love
that he couldn't bring himself to voice. She let out a breathy sigh and
nuzzled against him. His mouth traveled down to her neck, nipping at
the sensitive skin there, making her hiss in his ear.
He helped her pull her shirt over her head, followed by her bra, pants,
underwear, until she lay naked on the cot, looking up at him in anticipation
as he quickly stood up and divested himself of his own clothing. When he
was finished he settled himself against her, groaning contentedly when she
embraced him and kneaded the muscles of his back with her skillful hands.
"You know just what to do to drive me crazy, you know that?" he
whispered in her ear, and was rewarded by a low chuckle. He palmed
one full breast, loving the fullness of it against his hand, and when she
arched up against him he took it as an invitation to lower his mouth to
the beckoning coral nipple.
He tongued it lazily, suckling and teasing until he heard her whimper
above him. Instead of letting up he moved to the other breast, giving it
equal attention, worrying the nipple with his teeth, swirling his tongue
against it as her moans increased in intensity and volume. He felt
consumed by the need to love every last inch of her, to revive the Scully
he knew, to bring her back to life with his hands and his mouth. And so
he swept his lips down the valley between her breasts, over her abdomen,
her belly, her navel. He nipped at her hipbones, cupped the swell of her
exquisite buttocks beneath his hands. He meandered down her legs with
his tongue, tasting the salt behind her knees, lavishing his devotion on her
ankles, even her toes, then heading back up again to her thighs, the whole
time being driven half-mad by her continued wordless entreaties and
undulations.
When he finally placed his mouth between her thighs, she gasped in
surprise and pleasure, then spread her legs farther apart for him and
buried her fingers in his hair. He traced the folds of her flesh with his
tongue, sucked on her core, flickered his tongue in and out of her,
reveling in the smoky taste he found there.
"So long...I forgot...what this was like," she whispered as she squeezed
his head with her thighs.
He responded by reaching up to her knead her breasts and increasing
the tempo of his working tongue, lapping at her, the wet sounds of his
ministrations filling the room along with her continued moans. Her hips
began to gently rise and fall as she ground herself into him, still holding
on to his hair for dear life, until finally orgasm overtook her, and she let
out a series of short, sharp shrieks and bucked against him uncontrollably.
He kept his mouth there, riding the crest with her, until the pinnacle had
passed; then he pulled himself up and entered her in one swift motion
before her spasms had stopped completely. She closed around him a
couple of more times and he forced himself to stay still, wrapped inside
that exquisitely hot, tight, wetness, as he waited for her to subside completely,
even though he thought it might kill him to wait any longer. When he was
satisfied that she had fully come back to herself, he moved in and out of her
once with infinite slowness, groaning at the sweet friction.
"Oh..." She gasped and pulled her legs up, urging him to go deeper inside of
her. In response he thrust in and out of her again, harder this time, gratified
by her answering throaty moan. Then he began to build a slow, steady rhythm,
pumping into her, exhaling her name on each movement of his hips. She urged
him on, matching her movements to his, clutching his ass and rising up to meet
him again and again in perfect synchrony, as if they were partners in a rehearsed
dance. When he looked down at her he saw that despite her obvious pleasure
she was watching him intently with haunted blue eyes, as if she was afraid he
would suddenly disappear in a cloud of smoke.
He speeded up his thrusts and began talking to her breathlessly, nonstop,
reassuring her that she wasn't imagining things. "Yes, Scully, I'm here, I'm
yours, always and always and god you feel so good I've dreamed about this
for so long you don't know what you're doing to me Scully Scully Scully
god --"
"Mulder..." She moaned and moved her hands up his back, digging her
nails into his flesh, lifting her head up to bite at his shoulder, mixing pleasure
with pain and oh Jesus she was killing him...
And then finally she started coming again, clamping around him and crying
his name, and almost immediately he let himself go too, gushing into her
with a guttural moan and blissful release.
He collapsed on top of her, staying inside of her until they both stopped
shaking. Then he gently withdrew and wrapped her in his arms, placing
kiss after kiss on her temple. "Okay, I think now I'm convinced that you're
still my Scully," he said lightly.
She let out a strangled sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "I'm
glad one of us is." She buried her face in his chest, placing tiny kisses in the
hair there. "Just hold me, Mulder. I don't want to think about anything
but this right now."
"Okay." He ran his fingers lightly up and down her arm, entwined his
legs with hers. "It's you and me now, Scully. You and me."
"You and me," she whispered.
Scully woke to darkness, although that didn't mean anything considering
that there were no windows in their makeshift bedroom. She tried to
eye Mulder's watch, which was on the wrist of the hand that was currently
laid across her abdomen, but her eyes couldn't decipher it in the darkness.
Mulder shifted in his sleep, his arm snaking across her waist, his head
snuggling into the crook of her neck. She smiled wistfully at him. He had
broken through so many walls last night, had come so close to healing her
with his touch, his warmth, and, yes, even his love - unspoken, but obvious
nonetheless.
But she knew things couldn't be put to rights quite so easily. They both still
had a long way to go.
She did, however, feel more at ease than she had in a long time, despite
the seriousness of their situation. Going to Greenland had not been part
of her immediate plan, but it was a workable solution to a problem. Her
research, her work, could continue in Greenland. And now, she'd have
Mulder beside her. It wouldn't be so bad. Would it?
She kissed his soft brown hair tenderly and traced feathery circles on his
shoulder as he slept. It was beyond strange to have been separated from
him for so long, and then to immediately advance to a stage in their
relationship they had been too scared to consider in their life before. They
hadn't had time to ease back into their old friendship. Not that she was
complaining; it was just...odd. In a good way. A very, very good way. She
closed her eyes and luxuriated in the sensual memory.
He startled her by twitching against her, then waking abruptly, sitting up
in bed with combat reflexes.
"Hey, you okay?" she asked, rubbing his back.
"Yeah. I think I was having a dream. Don't remember it though." He
yawned and lay back down beside her. "What time is it?"
"I have no idea. I tried to read your watch, but it's too dark."
"Well, then..." He began stroking her hip under the covers, and she could
feel his hardness pressing against her.
She let out a low chuckle. "You're insatiable."
"We'll see." He lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her deeply, heedless of
anything as mundane as morning breath, and she returned the kiss, placing her
hand on the back of his neck and pulling him even closer. Her body responded
immediately, arching up against him as if of its own volition. His hands were
warm and rough against her flesh, his touch dexterous, and this time when they
made love it was quieter, gentler, with a sweet intensity that left them both
breathless.
They had barely started thinking coherently again when there was a knock on
the door. "Rise and shine," came Ari's voice faintly through the thick metal.
Scully cleared her throat. "We're up!" she yelled.
Mulder snickered. "In a manner of speaking, anyway."
She elbowed him in reproof. "We probably gave the whole camp a great
concert last night," she realized with a groan.
"Don't worry, Scully, you weren't =that= loud," Mulder ribbed her.
She raised an eyebrow at him. "Look who's talking. The human foghorn."
She ran a hand through her unkempt hair and suddenly grinned. It felt
so ridiculously good to just joke around with him. She'd forgotten how
much she'd missed it.
"Think they have some kind of shower set up down here?" he wondered,
scratching his belly absentmindedly.
"Good question. I bet they've rigged something up." Scully eased herself
out of bed and began pulling on her clothes - make that Keisha's clothes -
from the night before, conscious that Mulder was watching her as she did so.
It didn't make her uncomfortable as it did last night; in fact, she had to admit
to herself that she liked it, just a little.
"I'm going to go see if I can help out or something," she told him.
He nodded, rubbing his eyes. "I'll be there soon."
Scully opened the door and stepped out into the tunnel, which was already
abuzz with activity. The smell of bacon -- bacon! -- assaulted her nostrils,
making her stomach growl. She made a pit stop at the portable toilet they'd
stolen from god knew where, and headed over to where Keisha was manning
a portable grill that she had plugged into a battery pack. In addition to the
fragrant bacon, a couple of pancakes were bubbling on the hot surface.
"It smells wonderful," Scully said by way of greeting.
Keisha flashed her a smile. "It's not fancy, but it tastes good enough.
These are the easy pancakes - just add water to the mix. Perfect when
you don't have many ingredients to choose from."
Scully tugged on her t-shirt, uneasy all of a sudden. She had become a
master of meaningless idle conversation over the past three years, but she
was at a loss as to how to make a simple human connection. "I wanted to
thank you for the clothes, Keisha. Especially since I don't believe we've met."
Keisha shot her a look that Scully couldn't quite read. "Of course I know
who you are, Dr. Scully."
Scully stiffened; but reminded herself that the girl probably didn't mean
anything by her statement. Not everyone is out to get you, Dana. "In
that case, you should know to call me Dana." Scully studied the woman
carefully; her coffee-colored skin was smooth and unlined, and her hair was
cut super close to her scalp, whether out of practicality or preference she
didn't know. She was stunning, and could have been a model in the time
before; Scully realized that she was also very young - 22, 23 at the most.
"How did you wind up down here, Keisha?" she asked abruptly, then
made an effort to soften her approach. "If you don't mind my asking, that
is."
Keisha shrugged. "I'm one of the lucky ones -- naturally immune to
the virus. When I got stung, the day they released the bees, I shut myself
up in my apartment, got real sick for a few days, then just got better. 'Course,
by the time I had, everyone I knew was gone, either dead or...taken away."
She paused, and Scully could see the young woman was fighting back
tears at the memory. "I didn't know what to do. Everything was in chaos,
remember? Everyone who got stung was being rounded up by the slimies,
and everyone who didn't get stung was being shot down in the streets. I
had nowhere to turn...I lived in the back alleys for a while, became a real talent
at scavenging. Did that for two years. And then, one day, I ran into Rico,
who was out on one of his famous 'scouting parties.'" She smiled, and Scully
couldn't help but smile back at the affection in the other woman's voice. "He
took me to a camp, just like this one, and I...made myself useful, I guess.
Just like everyone else is doing. I've been at this camp with Ari for two
months now. It sure beats the mines or the farms or god knows what else,
right?" She looked to Scully for confirmation.
"Of course it does," she said uneasily. She paused, considered her next
words carefully. "Keisha? Would you mind if I had someone draw a blood
sample from you? Since you're naturally immune, it occurs to me that there
may be something in your blood that could help us to develop a bio-weapon
that's poisonous to the aliens. I've never been lucky enough to meet someone
who's naturally immune before." She realized how much of an effort it was
for her to be polite; phrasing it as a request, not an order.
"We are pretty rare," Keisha admitted, oblivious to Scully's internal
conflict. She thought for a moment, flipping over the bacon, which
sizzled and popped on the grill. "Yeah, okay. I'll give up a pint, if you
think it would help."
"Thank you," she said. And was pleased to discover that the phrase
did not feel completely foreign on her tongue.
Mulder flagged down the first guy he saw when he stepped into the tunnel,
and asked about bathing facilities. Although the man in question didn't
appear to use them too much himself, he explained that there was a locker
room with showers back by the entrance to the tunnel that had apparently
been used by transit personnel.
After snagging a flashlight and wishing for sunflower seeds to leave as
a trail of bread crumbs, but settling for having a smoke instead, Mulder
set off in search of the promised showers. The rusty, moldy facilities
were hardly the Ritz, but he'd experienced worse at the Y. Damp and
somewhat refreshed, he headed back to the camp.
He spotted Scully sitting apart from the others, perched precariously
atop an overturned pail of some kind. She looked uncomfortable,
glancing at the men and women around her, but hesitant to engage
them in conversation. Having trouble relating to the little people, huh,
Scully?
As if hearing his thought, Scully looked up and saw him, and when
she gave him a bright smile his heart skipped a beat. She appeared
to be almost happy. Amazing that he had anything to do with it.
He went over to her, fighting the sudden absurd urge to gather her up
in his arms and spin her around. "Hey," he said softly, crouching down
beside her.
"Hey." Her brow crinkled. "You showered already?"
"Why didn't you?"
"I got lured in by the bacon smell," she said, grinning. She reached up
and smoothed his damp hair.
"If you're smart, Dana, you'll eat now, then hop in the shower while everyone
else is eating," said the petite black woman who was standing at the grill
and piling bacon onto a plate. Keisha, Mulder's memory supplied.
"Um, okay. Thanks." She polished off the rest of her breakfast while
Mulder snatched himself a plate as his stomach rumbled a symphony. He
was skeptical that the food would taste any good in the rank air of the
tunnel, but was relieved to discover that he was wrong. It tasted great -
as great as instant pancakes could taste, anyway.
When other members of the group started to file over to Keisha and
grab food for themselves, Scully stood and picked up Mulder's borrowed
flashlight. "Shower time for me."
Mulder nodded, reflecting that now might be a good opportunity to
bring himself up to speed around here, without Scully there to see
just how out of the loop he really was. With that in mind, he sought
out Ari, who was seated on a milk crate and lovingly cleaning her gun
next to the light of a battery lamp. "Morning."
She glanced up at him. "Morning. Sleep well?"
Her gaze was steady; Mulder couldn't tell if she actually had been able
to hear the two of them last night, after all. "Slept great. Thanks
again for letting us use your space."
Ari shrugged. "Don't thank me. Dana's our leader, she gets the
top spot. It's that simple."
"How long have you known Scully?" he asked. He glanced down
at the ground, mentally debated sitting in the dirt, then figured what
the hell. He eased himself down, careful not to spill the contents of
his plate, and was grateful to find the ground didn't feel quite as
disgusting against his butt as he'd feared.
She threw him a look. "Since she cured me," she responded.
So he had been right about the reverence he saw in Ari's eyes when
she looked at Scully. "She means a lot to you, doesn't she."
"She saved my life," she said curtly, as if that more than answered the
question; which, Mulder supposed, it probably did. Ari started rubbing
down the barrel of her weapon. "And what about you, Mulder? How
much does she mean to you?"
Oh boy. Mulder recognized a protective tone of voice when he heard one.
He considered and rejected half a dozen responses, then found himself
blurting out the truth. "She means more to me than anything else on this
planet. More than my own life."
"Good. Because she just may ask it of you."
God, Scully, who the hell are you, now? Shit. He decided to ignore Ari's
cryptic response, and got down to business. "So what are you all doing
down here? How is this helping the resistance?"
She snorted. "You don't know how we work? What have you been doing
the past few years, sitting on your ass?"
Mulder blanched. "I've been in Denver," he said carefully. "Things are
different over there."
Thankfully, she seemed to accept that explanation at face value. "We're jacks-
of-all-trades around here, mostly. We do what needs to be done, whatever Dana
or Rico or whoever asks us to do. Scavenging, supply runs, the occasional
ambush or raid on a Colonist facility. It may not seem like much when you
look at it on a case by case basis, but when you add it all up, we make a
difference."
"So we have you to think for the bacon?" he asked.
She allowed herself a small grin. "That was Frank's coup. There are
a lot of abandoned grocery stores in the area, if you know where to look.
Found the bacon in the deep freeze. He made a killing that day -- all sorts
of stuff we wouldn't normally be able to get our hands on. Have to eat
it all fast, though, so it won't spoil. Not that that seems to be a problem
around here. Especially since it's very, very rare that we get anything this
good."
"I'll bet. So when's the next raid?"
Ari narrowed her eyes at him. "Why do you want to know?"
He shrugged, uncomfortable at his obvious neophyte status. "Scully
and I might be here a couple of days, so if you have something planned,
I'd like to help."
She looked at him like he was a rare and repulsive insect under a microscope.
"There's nothing in the works, but if that changes, I'll be sure to let
you know," she said warily.
He nodded, still feeling like an idiot. She worked in silence for a few
minutes while he tried to think of something else to say.
"You call her Scully?"
His head jerked up at the unexpected question. "Uh, yeah, always
have, since we were first partners. Why?"
"I called her that once. I call people by their last names a lot, it's a
holdover from being in the military. Anyway, when I called her Scully
she damn near bit my head off. Told me never to call her that. I guess
now I know why."
"Oh." Mulder wasn't sure how he was supposed to respond to that.
Had the memories of him truly been that painful, that she wanted no
reminders whatsoever? He squirmed at the thought. "She...she
doesn't seem to mind it now," he said finally.
"Not from you anyway. Well, I've always thought that Dana just needed
to get laid to loosen her up a bit. Guess you proved me right, huh?" Ari
snickered at Mulder's mortified expression. "Hey, don't worry about it,
we're all adults here."
"Could have fooled me," he muttered.
"No fair having fun at Mulder's expense without me," came a throaty
voice from behind them. He looked up to see Scully wringing out her
wet hair. Still more than a little damp from the shower, her shirt clung
to her in a way that Mulder was sure could win any wet t-shirt contest.
He did his best not to stare.
"No fair making rules like that when it's so easy to do," Ari riposted.
The corners of Scully's mouth turned up slightly; then she abruptly turned
serious, as if she felt guilty about the levity. "I wonder if we'll hear from
Rico today."
Ari shook her head. "I wouldn't count on it. These things take time,
Dana. You know that. Fake traveling papers, safe passage, a clear
time window -- that's going to be a while setting up, even with Frohike's
help."
Scully sighed and stepped closer to Mulder, placing her hand on his
shoulder. "You're right. I just hate the thought of wasting any time.
Especially now. I really think we're getting close to developing an
effective bio-weapon."
"Good," Ari said grimly. "The sooner we rid Earth of the slimies, the
better."
"Also, I could use a pen and some paper," Scully said thoughtfully. "I came
up with a thought for a new lab trial while I was in the shower, based on
the blood work we're going to do on Keisha's sample. I'd like to get the
information to Dr. Fields as soon as possible. Most importantly, I need
to get a syringe and a test tube so that I can get Keisha's blood back to
him."
"You want it, you got it," Ari said automatically, making a mental note.
"What's so special about Keisha's blood?" Mulder asked.
"She's naturally immune to the drone virus," Scully explained. "I'm
hoping -- I'm betting, in fact -- that there will be something in her blood
work that will help us understand why. And maybe that information
can help us develop a virus to work against the Colonists."
"Great. I'll get Frank started on the medical supply mission," Ari
said, getting up and placing her gun carefully down on the milk crate.
And then she was gone.
That woman makes the fastest exits and entrances I've ever seen,
Mulder mused. He looked up at Scully, whose brow was furrowed with
worry. "So what now?" he asked.
"Now we wait."
The next few days passed with agonizing slowness for Scully and
Mulder, as they waited for word from Rico, waited for the team in
the tunnel to get a new assignment beyond foraging for their daily
meals, waited for something, anything, to happen. The magically
resourceful Frank did manage to secure the medical equipment
Scully needed, and she kept Keisha's blood sample in the ice cooler
in their room until a courier from Rico could take it back to Harrison
at the lab. She wondered if he was making any progress with the new
trials she had suggested before she left. Then she had to stop wondering,
because wondering and not knowing were slowly driving her insane. To
top it all off, it seemed like whenever Mulder tried to reassure her, she
found herself snapping at him and accusing him of not being able to
understand. The new Dana and the old Scully were at war, and she
wasn't even sure which one of them she wanted to be anymore.
One boring evening Ari came to her and requested her help with one of
their team, a man named Bennett who had fallen ill. Although doubtful
that she could accomplish much without the proper supplies, Scully
nonetheless agreed to have a look at him, if for no other reason than to
break up the monotony.
He was huddled on a blanket in a corner, with a small bonfire set up
near him for warmth despite the summer heat. Ari and Mulder stood
uncomfortably behind her as she checked the man's vitals. "What seems
to be the problem, Bennett?" she asked casually, as if he were a patient
in her office.
The short, thin man, who looked to be in his 50s, sat himself up with an
effort before replying. "There's a lot of tingling and numbness in my
hands and feet, and I've been having trouble breathing. I'm tired all the
time too."
"And how long has this been going on?"
"About a week, I guess. But I've been tired for a long time now. Stomach
hurts a lot, too."
Scully took the man's arms, examined them closely. Areas of the skin
had an odd bluish tint to them. "Have you noticed this blue pigmentation
on your skin before?"
He looked down at his arms, surprised. "No, I hadn't even noticed."
The symptoms clicked together in Scully's mind, but she didn't see how it
could be... "This is very strange."
"What is it?" Mulder asked.
She directed her answer to her patient. "Well, according to the symptoms,
Bennett, I'd say you're suffering from beriberi. I didn't think anyone got
that anymore."
"Bennett's been living down here for months," Ari said in clipped tones.
"Yes, but --"
"Scully, they're not exactly chowing down on state dinners here," Mulder
said.
Right. Scully's vision swam and her breath caught in her chest. Oh god,
not again... "Excuse me," she muttered, and ran to the supply closet
where she and Mulder had been staying, ignoring her friends' shocked
protests behind her.
She sat down on the cot and placed her head between her legs, feeling
the blood rush to her brain. Breathe, just breathe. Deep, even
breaths. You are not having a panic attack you are not having a panic
attack --
God. What was going to happen to all of them?
She didn't look up when the door opened. "Scully?"
"Mulder...that man..."
He sat down beside her and began rubbing her back gently. "What
is it?"
"I just...once in a while it hits me, you know? This man, this man I
don't even know, who's risking his life just like the rest of us, is dying
of malnutrition while I've been waited on hand and foot for years."
"Is he really dying?"
She eased up, took a few more deep breaths to make sure she wasn't going
to start hyperventilating. So far so good. "He could be, if we don't get
him some thiamin."
"Shit."
"I'm sure he'll be fine. Ari's probably already on it."
"Probably." He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her
close. "You shouldn't beat yourself up about it, Scully. It's not your
fault that you were pressed into the life that you were. And you used
it to your advantage. You used it to help people."
She allowed herself a small smile. "You know, I don't remember you
being this emotionally perceptive when we were partners."
He let out a bitter, self-deprecating laugh. "I think that's because I haven't
had anyone worth talking to for the past three years. It's made me more
receptive when people I do care about have something to say."
So something good had come of all this: he actually listened to her now.
On the heels of that cynicism came an unexpected, powerful surge of emotion,
and the next thing she knew she was kissing him, hard. She wanted him fiercely,
needed him, needed for him to block out the bluish marks on that man's arms.
She tugged at the fly of his jeans.
"Scully," he whispered in surprise.
"Shh. Don't talk. I don't want to talk right now," she said, and pulled her
shirt up over her head.
He didn't talk.
A short time later they snuggled together in bed, limbs intertwined, Scully's
head pillowed against Mulder's chest. "Scully?" Mulder said with a hint of
nervousness.
"Mmm." She splayed her fingers out over his abdomen and watched the
rise and fall of his rib cage, feeling, for the moment, content.
"I want to know about what you did. After I left. What happened to you."
She closed her eyes. Goddammit. Couldn't he just leave it be? "I don't
think it's anything you want to hear."
"Why don't you let me be the judge of that?"
Fine. Careful what you wish, for, Mulder. She cleared her throat and tried
to put it all into words; a difficult task, as she'd never spoken about this to
anyone.
"When you left, I knew it had to be against your will. I knew they had to
have taken you, because you would never willingly abandon me. I knew
that, or at least I thought I did."
His lips brushed the top of her head. "I hear a 'but' in there somewhere."
"But at the same time, I couldn't help but feel that you had deserted
me. Even if you didn't do so intentionally. Does that make any sense?"
"Does anything about the world we live in right now?" he countered.
She grimaced. "True. Mulder, I searched for meaning in the wake of
your leaving, and found none. I searched for a reason to go on, and
discovered nothing. I...I went through the motions of Motherhood, once
they came to collect me. They were polite, even subservient, in a way, but
they were still holding their lasers on me. Speak softly and carry a big stick
and all that. So I went quietly, let them take me to my new 'home,' listened
as they told me that I would be revered in their new society, and would never
have to work ever again, unless I wanted to. At the time I saw my complicity
in their new world as merely a cowardly way of forestalling the inevitable.
And then, one night, a few months after you left, I found myself standing in
the bathroom with a razor blade against my wrist."
Mulder's arms tightened around her, but he didn't interrupt. In a
way she hated doing this to him, knowing he must be suffering to hear
it, but at the same time she had to tell him the whole story, if he was
to understand at all what was going on in her mind and her heart.
And she realized to her surprise that she did very much want him to
understand. Wanted someone to know, to validate it, somehow.
She took a ragged breath and continued. "I was so close, Mulder. I
actually started to draw that thin red line across my veins. But then I
remembered something. Something that made me stop. Something
that you said to me once, and that I said back to you, after you had
saved my life for the umpteenth time.
"If I quit now, they win."
A strangled sound escaped Mulder's throat. "God, Scully -"
She reached up without looking to place a finger against his lips. He
took her hand and kissed it, then continued to hold it against his cheek.
His stubble was rough and strangely arousing beneath her palm.
"As was so often the case in the past, it was your words, your quest,
that re-energized me, that gave me back my determination to go on. I
knew that if I were to give up - because at this point I was convinced you
were dead - that they would have beaten us, once and for all. And I
couldn't allow that. Not after what they had done to you. What they had
done to =us.= I wanted to go on for you, Mulder. But along the way, I
had to let go of you. It was just too painful. I had to leave you behind.
There was no room in my life to cling to your memory, although I was
never able to discard it completely. There were many nights that thoughts
of that last night...of that first kiss...were all that guarded me against the
horrors that waited for me when I fell asleep."
"I thought about that night a lot too," Mulder whispered. "How your lips
were so soft..."
"You must know that I loved you even then," she said, practically biting
out the words. The sentiment felt flat on her tongue.
"I loved you since the first moment I met you," he replied. "I turned and
saw you and it was like I started breathing for the first time. Even though
you, and what you represented, scared the hell out of me."
She had to chuckle at that. "I was so young and naïve. Hardly frightening."
"That's what you think. You were a terror in sensible pumps, Scully."
"Oh, sure. You were the intimidating one, towering over me, nattering
on with your out-there theories."
"'Do you believe in the existence of extraterrestrials?'" he quoted back
at her.
She snorted against his chest. "Guess you won that argument, huh?"
"I wish I hadn't."
They both sobered at his words. "Yeah, me too," she whispered.
There was a long moment of silence. "How did you become involved
with the resistance movement?" he finally prodded.
She sighed and returned to her narrative. "I began to make discreet inquiries,
of other Mothers, of my patients. I was very careful not to say anything
incriminating, but couched my questions in such a way that I knew the people
I wanted to reach would understand my intentions. But nothing really came of
that. Everyone seemed to be too afraid, or too complacent. It was very
frustrating.
"And then, one day, Frohike came to me out of the blue; I hadn't even known
he was still around. He told me he was part of an informal group that had
banded together to try to subvert the Colonists in whatever small way they
could. And they needed someone on the inside, so to speak. And someone
to guide them. For some reason, Frohike had decided that I fit the bill," she
said dryly.
"He can be quite the charmer when he wants to be."
"Tell me about it," Scully said, smiling at the memory. "Anyway, that's how
it all began. I started gleaning any information I had access to, and passing
it on to them, and as the group grew I became more involved in things like
planning raids, disseminating spies into the camps, that sort of thing. They
wanted someone to look up to, to show them the way...and they wanted that
person to be me. So I played the part."
"And when did you find out that I was alive?" he asked hesitantly.
Oh, she did not want to get into this. It was very odd, she reflected, that
when they were partners they had been very careful not to discuss their
feelings or experiences too deeply. And now it seemed to be all he wanted
to do. "Close to a year after...after you were gone. I overheard that smoking
bastard talking about you. He was around a lot in those days, hovering over
me, making sure I didn't 'do anything rash,' as he put it. So I waited until the
next time I was alone with him, knocked him to the ground and took his gun.
I almost killed him, Mulder. I held that gun on him and demanded that he tell
me the truth about you or I'd blow his head off." His quick intake of breath
conveyed his shock at the image.
"It was pretty obvious to both of us that I wasn't kidding, so he started
talking quickly enough. He told me that you were in Denver, that they'd
saddled you with a pencil-pushing job. That you were leading as normal
a life as could be expected under the circumstances. That...that you
didn't seem to miss me much."
"Scully, you have to know that I --"
She cut him off. "I knew that to an extent, Mulder, but how could I be
sure? You weren't there. He showed me proof of everything he'd told
me -- a work ID, your traveling papers indicating your permanent
residence -- the whole nine yards. I had no choice but to believe him.
=You weren't there.= And so, after mourning you for a year, I had to
mourn you all over again; had to mourn the loss of who you once were,
the loss of you in my life. The loss of us and our friendship. That was
a really dark time for me. If it wasn't for Rico..."
"Tell me about him," Mulder said. She thought she detected a note of
jealousy in his voice, but couldn't be sure.
"Rico is my rock," she said with a smile. "He was the first person I cured
with the vaccine I developed. It wasn't exactly a careful selection process;
he was a drone in the lab who happened to be around late that night when
I needed a test subject. But God was with me that day, I guess. Rico was
instantly devoted, ambitious, and resourceful, and I should thank him every
day of my life for all that he's done for me."
"He must be some guy." Oh, that was jealousy, she was sure of it.
"He is." She lifted her head to look at him. "Yes, he replaced you, Mulder,
as my best friend, my partner, my confidant. And I don't want you to hold
that against him."
He couldn't answer her; just nodded instead. She supposed that would have
to do. She rested her head back on his chest and listened to his heart beat
beneath her ear as she continued.
"Anyway, Rico helped me through that rough time, and Frohike..." She
trailed off, thinking of him. "It's strange how much I have come to adore
that man. He's only a third of who he once was, with Byers and Langly gone,
but somehow he's always been there when I needed him. I think it was the
fact that we were both without our soul mates that bonded us, really. We
were walking shadows. But we got by."
"I'm sorry I wasn't there for you, Scully," Mulder said, gripping her
like a vise. "It should have been me. I wanted it to be me."
"I know that now," she said. "I probably knew it then, although I tried
so hard to not even think about you. You're not an easy person to
forget, Fox Mulder." She paused, knowing that she needed to choose
her next words carefully.
"But, what I'm trying to get at...the thing I've been dancing around,
the thing that has been keeping me from giving myself to you completely
now, is that, in order to get by, I tried to make myself hate you. For
leaving me, for living this new life the smoking bastard and his cronies
created for you, for not trying to find me. I couldn't believe you never tried
to find me, Mulder." She felt tears threatening, and blinked rapidly to clear
them. She did not want to cry, not again. "And so, in trying to hate you, I
damn near succeeded. And that's not easy to let go of, once and for all.
Not even when you're here, and loving me, and helping us. And I don't
know what to say about that. Don't know what I possibly could do or say
to change that, or make it better. It just is."
A long silence greeted her speech, and she worried if she had done
the wrong thing, if she had misjudged his ability to take into account
the events of the past three years and not despise her for her self-
preservation methods.
When he finally did speak, the words were like daggers in her heart.
"How can I blame you for hating me when I've done nothing but hate
myself?"
She closed her eyes, reflected that she'd like nothing better than to drift
off to sleep and forget this conversation ever happened. "We both did
what we had to do, Mulder. Hating yourself for it is wasted energy. You
told me so yourself. You want to hate? Hate Them. They're the ones I
should have been hating, all those months, instead of you. I know that
now, I think."
"But I -"
He never finished his sentence; a tentative knock at the door startled
them both. They pulled the coarse sheet up over their naked bodies
before Scully called out, "It's okay, Ari."
The door opened a notch and Ari poked her head in. "Sorry to interrupt,"
she said dryly, looking pointedly at their state of undress, "but it's time
for you guys to move."
"Right now?" Mulder asked in surprise.
"Ship's leaving for Greenland in the morning, so we have to sneak you
on board tonight. Just got the message from Rico. He sent you some gear,
too. Here." She opened the door the rest of the way and dumped two
impossibly large duffel bags on the cement floor. "Besides the obvious -
false IDs, traveling documents, cash -- we got clothes, first aid kits, non-
perishable food items, even a couple of lasers. You know how scarce
those are, so use them wisely. You've got ten minutes before we leave
for the rendezvous."
Once the door had shut behind her, the two former partners looked at
each other in shock, trying to absorb that without warning they would
have to move so quickly, and with so much still left unsaid between
them. "We'd better get dressed," Scully said quietly, not meeting his
eyes.
Out of the corner of her vision she saw him give her a trademark Mulder
Look: it began with his mouth slightly ajar in protest, then subsided into
reluctant acceptance. "Guess so."
Scully rummaged through the duffel bags and was overjoyed to see that
Rico had thought to include her "around-the-house" wear, suitable for
Greenland weather: comfortable knit and corduroy slacks; sweaters and
long-sleeved shirts; thick, warm socks. In all the colors of the rainbow.
She slipped gratefully into a burgundy cotton pullover and black leggings.
The clothes smelled fresh, newly washed. Heaven.
Rico had supplied well for Mulder, too, and she couldn't help but wonder
if he'd ransacked his own wardrobe for the job. Her lover now wore a gray
t-shirt and blue jeans that hugged in him all the right places....okay, Dana,
get your mind out of the gutter and back to the matter at hand.
He noticed her looking at him. "Do I pass inspection?"
"You'll do," she retorted, embarrassed to be caught staring, especially when
he obviously enjoyed the attention.
She moved to leave, when a thought occurred to her, and she looked through
her bag again. Yes. Rico had come through for her. She pulled out a small,
hand-carved wooden box and opened it. Nestled inside were the few personal
items that she couldn't live without: her grandmother's wedding ring, her
mother's cameo brooch, a necklace of Melissa's, and a small photo of Mulder
and herself, taken years before on a case. And her cross. She pulled it out and
held it in her palm as if appraising it.
"I noticed you weren't wearing it," Mulder said hesitantly. "Can I ask why?"
She shrugged. "There didn't seem to be much of a point. God had
abandoned me. And the fact that the Colonists don't look too kindly on
public worship didn't help." She traced the outline of the pendant with her
finger. "I don't know that I'm ready to put it back on, just yet."
He reached out and caressed her cheek with an infinitely tender touch.
"One step at a time, Scully."
She took a deep breath. "Right." She placed the necklace back in the
box and placed the box back in her bag, then zipped the bag up. "Ready?"
"Let's go, G-woman," he said, and she couldn't help but return his grin.
Ari was waiting for them when they stepped out into the tunnel, her torch
in hand and a rifle slung over her shoulder, loaded, no doubt, with a fresh
round of Kitovas bullets. "Got your weapons ready? Good. We don't want
to take any chances," she said briskly. "Frank and Jim will be coming with
us as backup." Mulder and Scully nodded at the two stocky men in
acknowledgment. "Let's move out. Dana, is it okay if I take point?"
Scully raised her brows in surprise at the deferment. Her specialty was
Living in the Fancy House, not Navigating the Trenches. But to Ari,
protocol was everything. "Of course, Ari. There's no one I'd trust more,
and you know your way around here much better than I do."
Ari's fingers twitched as if suppressing a salute. "That's that, then.
Stick close and stay quiet." Frank and Jim fell in at the rear as they
began to make their way out of the tunnel. No one else in the camp
was awake yet save for the man on watch, and the silence was eerie as
they crept along in the darkness.
The night air was startlingly cool and crisp after the close quarters of
underground, and Scully drank it in greedily as her eyes adjusted to
the light of the moon. It was obvious that Mulder was rapturous over
the fresh air as well, like a junkie discovering a new high. Indifferent to
their reactions, Ari led them to an unmarked black van waiting at the curb.
Rico was sitting in the driver's seat.
Scully didn't know whether to smile or cry; hug him or punch him in the nose.
Maybe all four at once? "What the hell are you doing?" she demanded in a
harsh whisper after she had run over to the driver's window. "You know how
dangerous it is for you to be here."
He shook his head, his dark eyes piercing hers. "I had to make sure you got
out safely, Dana. I owe you that. Please don't make me leave. I don't think
you could make me anyway." His gaze shifted to Mulder, who she could
feel hovering behind her. "I've taken care of you so far, haven't I?" The
challenge in his words was all too transparent. She heard Mulder utter an
oath under his breath.
Good god, she was back on the playground at grade school. "Yes, Rico, you
have," she said firmly. "And you know how much I appreciate it. But you don't
owe me anything. Not anymore."
"I'm not leaving," he insisted, his jaw set.
"I hate to break up the reunion, but we really don't have time to argue," Ari
interjected. "We need to move, =now.="
"She's right," Rico said.
Their eyes held a moment longer. "Fine," Scully said finally. "Let's get out
of here." And in spite of her anger she couldn't help but be grateful that she
was seeing him one last time.
Mulder rifled through the bag Rico had brought him as the van rumbled
on its way toward Annapolis and the ship that would take them to Greenland.
"What are you looking for?" Scully asked quietly from where she sat next
to him in the middle row of seats.
"I'm hoping hoping hoping yes! Thank god." He held up the packet of
Dramamine with a relieved smile.
She grinned back at him, but her next words were for her friend, not him.
"Rico, how did you know that Mulder gets seasick?"
"Frohike," he responded from the driver's seat.
Frohike. Bless his gnomish little heart. Well, the tablets were going to be
put to good use, he was sure of it. Goddamn weak stomach...
Shit. His weak stomach was the least of his problems; he had more important
things on his mind. Such as Dana Scully.
And the fact that she hated him. Had even told him so, to his face.
She hated him and yet still made love to him, held him, whispered x-rated
endearments to him as he feasted between her legs in the dark.
What fresh hell was this?
He couldn't blame her; he had left her, after all, whether it was against his
will or not. And he'd hated himself for it, daily, any time he thought of her
or talked to Strughold or let Marita fuck him. He'd become an expert at self-
loathing and recrimination.
So why was he so upset that she'd gone down the same logical path?
Had he really expected her to hold on to some kind of romantic devotion
to him? To not blame him for leaving her on her own in a living nightmare?
The image of her in a steamy bathroom, a razor blade hovering over her
wrists, would haunt him for the rest of his days. If he was in any way
responsible for that, then he supposed that he deserved some measure of
hatred. And he would not begrudge her that. Even if it was killing him,
little by little.
"We're here." Rico's voice interrupted his reverie. He and Scully got
their gear together and waited for Frank to throw open the back sliding
door before hopping out.
The docks were dark, lit only by scattered street lamps that gave off
little light, their gloomy incandescence giving rise to shadows and a
ghostly luminescence that underscored the drama of their situation.
The freighter ship loomed in the distance, a hulking leviathan against
the backdrop of the glittering night. Mulder briefly felt like a character
in a 40s film noir flick, and wished he had a trenchcoat to pull more
tightly around him as he sucked on a cigarette with panache. Speaking
of which...
He was patting his pockets, looking for his Marlboros, when a lone figure
coalesced in the darkness, emerging like a wraith. "This them?" a low
voice rumbled.
He stepped further into the light, and Mulder appraised the newcomer warily.
He was exceedingly thin, his angular face rough with five o'clock shadow,
fine light brown hair falling over his forehead. His dark eyes were hard
and unyielding. Mulder disliked the man on sight.
"Bishop." Rico stepped forward, shook the man's hand. "These are
your two passengers, Apollo and Daphne," he said, gesturing to
Mulder and Scully. "This is John Bishop, your contact on the ship. He'll
be responsible for getting you on and off unseen."
Bishop nodded without expression. Mulder returned the favor.
"It's a pleasure," Scully said, extending her hand, which Bishop
shook unenthusiastically. "Thank you for your help."
Again, a nod. Apparently they would not be passing the trip in stimulating
conversation with their newfound aide. Guess when it came to finding
people willing to smuggle resistance leaders overseas, you had to take
what you could get.
"You're stowing away on a cargo freighter," Rico said, turning to Scully.
"So it's not going to be the Ritz. But it's all we could get."
"We'll be fine," she assured him. She touched him briefly on the arm,
and Mulder's heart twisted at the affection in the gesture.
Rico smiled down at Scully as if they were the only two people there.
"I know you will be. Okay, this is it," he said, clapping his hands
together. "Now remember -"
The whine of a laser blast, the sizzle of flesh, and Rico crumpled to the
ground, a gaping black hole in his chest.
"RICO!" Scully screamed and bent over his fallen form.
"Get down!" Mulder yelled, pulling his laser gun from the waistband
of his jeans. Ari already had her weapon out and was crouched behind
the van, leaning out from behind the front wheel to sporadically return
fire. Frank and Jim took the other side of the vehicle, bringing their
own weapons into play. Bishop ran behind them, weaponless, trying
to stay out of the line of fire.
Peering into the blackness as he ran to the shelter of the van himself,
Mulder could barely make out the outline of a small unit of alien
troops clustered at the entrance to the dock. Out on patrol, or tipped
off?
"How the hell did they know?" Mulder shouted over the roar of Ari's
rifle. She shook her head in ignorance. He looked over at Scully,
but she was oblivious to him, her attention focused entirely on Rico,
ripping his shirt open, futilely trying to do something about his wound.
It was more than apparent to Mulder that Rico was already dead, but
Scully didn't seem to realize it, or didn't want to admit it.
"Get out of there!" he yelled at her. "There's nothing more you can
do for him."
"Fuck you!" she screamed back at him in fury. She pulled out her own
gun from under her shirt and fired once into the darkness, and for half
a second Mulder actually thought she was aiming at him. He followed
the line of the laser bolt with his eyes, watched in surprise as one of the
troops fell. Gotcha. Scully had obviously kept her hand in.
Fine. Girlfriend can take care of herself, is that what she was saying?
He turned his attention back to the fray. The alien troops remaining
were encroaching further, slowly making their way toward the rebels.
The whine of laser weapons was loud in the air, and sparks flew as
energy bolts spattered across the van serving as their barricade. The
thunder of Ari, Frank, and Jim's automatic weapons hammered against
his eardrums until they popped. He fired back like a madman, squinting
into the smoke, while Ari kept up a steady stream of curses at his side
in some sort of weird self-motivating combat mode.
After what seemed like forever but which was probably no more than
a few minutes, the laser fire finally died down. Mulder peered into the
night, but didn't see any more troops.
"Did we get them all?" Mulder asked.
Ari shook her head grimly. "Don't know."
Dammit. He glanced over at Scully, who had gone back to attempting
to administer to Rico, then looked back into the dark. He strained his
eyes searching for more movement, but found none. He and Ari had
just holstered their weapons when one more laser whine filled the air,
and Scully let out a shocked cry.
He turned to find her lying on her side, holding her hip. He was at her
side in an instant, only dimly aware of his three compatriots once again
returning fire. "Scully, are you okay?"
"I'm all right," she gasped.
"Christ, Scully..." He lifted up her shirt, saw a brutal, blackening burn
above her hip. "We have to get you to a doctor..."
"I am a doctor," she whispered. "Stupid." She was cracking jokes at a
time like this? Jesus, it was Antarctica all over again.
"Apollo, you don't have time," Ari said from behind him. The gunfire
had stopped; they must have taken out the final troop. "Bishop has to
get the two of you on the ship now, before the crew wakes up and comes
to investigate."
"But she's wounded!" Mulder protested.
"You have first aid supplies in your duffel bags," Ari said, her voice sharp
but sympathetic at the same time. "It's just a laser burn. I've gotten them
myself. She knows how to deal with these injuries. She'll live, if you just
do what she tells you." She walked over to Dana, crouched down near her
head. "You okay, boss?"
Scully nodded. "Help me stand up," she croaked weakly.
"No --" Mulder began, but a look from Ari shut him up. Together they
helped Scully to her feet, while Bishop watched silently. Scully let out
a hiss of pain as she stood upright.
"Can you walk if someone helps you?" Ari asked with surprising tenderness.
Scully grunted an affirmative and leaned more heavily into Mulder.
He bent his knees so that she could sling her arm over his shoulders.
"I've got you," he said softly.
She raised her head to give him a weak smile. "I know."
"Okay, Bishop, get them out of here," Ari said in a tone of command.
"Rico..." Scully gasped. "Have to...bury him...."
"We'll take care of him for you, Daphne," Ari promised her. "Now go.
He would want you to go, before reinforcements arrive."
Scully took one long last look at her fallen friend before tearing her
gaze away and back to Ari. "Thank you."
Ari gripped Scully's arm, then slapped Mulder on the back. "Take
care of her and yourself."
"I will. Be safe," Mulder said.
"Always." She saluted them solemnly, then turned to help carry Rico's
body into the van.
Mulder, Scully, and Bishop headed for the ship that loomed ahead of
them in the darkness. Bishop made no move to assist Scully, and that
suited Mulder just fine. He still didn't like the taciturn man in spite
of Rico's judgment.
"Everyone's turned in for the night, so we should have no problems
sneaking you aboard, unless the gunfire woke 'em," Bishop said
suddenly.
Mulder blinked at the long sentence. "Isn't there a night watchman?"
"I'm the night watchman."
Ah. None of them spoke further as they climbed the gangplank as quietly
as possible, then weaved their way through the corridors of the nondescript
ship, Bishop staying a good twenty feet ahead of them as a lookout. When
they reached a set of metal staircases, Scully balked.
"I'm not sure I can make it down these," she said reluctantly.
"Have to go down," Bishop said, unhelpful.
"I'll carry you," Mulder said.
"I don't need to be carried. I just..."
"What?"
Her jaw worked as she obviously tried to think of an alternative. "I just
need to be carried," she said after a beat, defeated, looking down at the
floor.
He knew it was wrong for him to smile, but he did it anyway. Luckily,
she didn't catch him in the act. She placed her arms around his neck and
he lifted her gingerly, careful not to jostle her hip any more than necessary.
She sucked in a gasp of pain anyway.
"Sorry," he whispered.
"'S okay." She rested her head against his chest.
They made steady progress after that, even though Mulder's muscles
screamed for relief after the first couple of flights. Finally, five flights
later, Bishop led them out of the stairwell and into a dank corridor.
"You can put me down now," Scully said weakly.
"And deprive myself of the workout? No way." He only tightened his
hold on her.
She sighed and half-heartedly slapped him on the chest, but the fact
that she made no further protest merely underscored how weak and
in pain she must be. Please please please let her be okay...
He gulped when Bishop came to a halt in front of a massive steel door
at the end of the corridor. This didn't look good. When the door swung
open, the rank air within almost made his gorge rise. "Mmm, smells like
home," he quipped.
Scully sighed in exasperation in a way that sounded like old times. He
carried her inside, Bishop still leading the way, then waited in the darkness
until Bishop clicked on a small battery lamp that he had left just inside
the doorway.
"Here's your light," he said.
"That's it?" Mulder protested. "We have to sit in the dark for days
on end? Are you crazy?"
"Take it or leave it," Bishop said disinterestedly.
"We'll take it," Scully said over Mulder's protest. He shook his head
in frustration, but shut up and put Scully back on her feet, gently, so
that the two of them could get a look at their surroundings. Not
that getting a better look was necessarily a good idea under the
circumstances. When they did, he heard her let loose a soft curse.
They stood in a large hold deep in the bowels of the ship, a vast
steel-walled expanse of space dedicated to storing countless large
wooden crates stacked on top of each other. Mulder wasn't sure what
was inside, but the stenciled lettering on the outside of each crate
proclaiming "PERISHABLE ITEMS" wasn't a good sign.
"You're right, it does smell like your old apartment," Scully said dryly.
He shot her a dirty look.
Bishop ignored their reactions - naturally - and reached behind
a packing crate. He pulled out two blankets and one pillow. "Here."
Mulder took the items from him. "She's going to need better
medical supplies," he said. "Can you get some for us?"
Bishop's eyes flickered over Scully. "I'll see what I can do. There's
a head down the hall, only use it when you absolutely have to. People
don't come down here much, but you never know. Safer at night, like
I said."
Mulder wanted to make a snide remark, but couldn't bring himself to
do so in light of the longest speech he'd heard the man make all night.
"Thanks."
Bishop nodded and left the hold, the steel door clanging shut behind
him, leaving them standing in dark, bathed in the dim light from the
battery lamp.
Mulder looked down at the blankets in his hands, at a loss, until a
moan from Scully snagged his attention. "Mulder...I think I need to...
lie down."
He quickly spread the blankets down on the cold floor, then helped
her lie down on them, wincing in sympathy when she bit her lip in
pain. "How is it?" he asked.
"Hurts....take a look."
He lifted up her shirt and grimaced at the sight that greeted him.
The burn was a black, putrid color that shot fear into his heart.
"It looks bad, Scully."
She raised her head to get a look at the wound, closed her eyes briefly
when she saw it. "Yeah. I, uh, am going to have to ask you to do
something later, Mulder. But I can't face it now. We'll face it after a
couple hours of sleep."
"What?" Fear rippled down his spine. "What aren't you telling me?"
She shook her head. "Not now. I can't. Don't worry, it'll be okay." She
tried to smile reassuringly, but it didn't quite work.
"If you say so," he said dubiously. He reached for his duffel bag and
went through it, searching for the promised first aid kit. He breathed a
sigh of relief when his hands closed on a flat plastic box. "Let's see what
we have here," he murmured. He opened the kit, searched for something,
anything, that would help. "There's some gauze...and some sulfadiazine
cream," he said, sounding out the medical term. "What's that?"
"That's what we put on laser burns," she said. "Is there any aspirin?"
God, he was an idiot. Painkillers, painkillers... "Yeah, we got...ooh,
we got codeine, Scully. It's your lucky day."
"Gotta love the hard stuff," she said, managing a wan smile. "Hit me.
Just one for now."
He handed her the pill, then pulled the container of water out of his bag
and passed her that as well. She pulled herself up into a sitting position
to take the medication, then lay back down and handed it all back to him.
"Should I put some of this cream on you?" Mulder asked.
She shook her head. "Not yet. No point yet. Just, um, help me take my
pants off and then bandage the burn up lightly, okay?"
He did as she asked, trying not to hurt her any more then necessary, then
sat back on his heels, looking at her, feeling unutterably helpless. God,
he wanted a cigarette. "Is there anything else I can do?"
She reached out her his hand. "No. I think...I need to sleep for a while."
It suddenly hit him that they had been awakened in the middle of the night,
before they'd had a chance to sleep. He glanced at his watch, blanched
when he saw it was 4 AM. Fatigue hit him like a Mack truck. "That's
not a bad idea. Somehow I doubt our friend is going to make it back
tonight."
"Probably not," she said sleepily.
He turned off the lamp, then lay down next to her good side and propped
himself up on one elbow, looking down at her as he waited for his eyes
to adjust to the darkness.
"Aren't you going to sleep?" she asked.
He stroked her hair as lightly as he could in an easy rhythm. "I will. You
go ahead."
She closed her eyes obediently. He continued to stroke her hair until he
was convinced she was asleep, then he lay down beside her and buried
his face in the crook of her neck, lining their bodies up so that he was
pressed against the entire length of her. As the warmth of her slender
form bled into his, he quickly drifted into slumber.
Scully awoke with a start from a nightmare that dissipated as quickly as
it had formed. The sudden movement jolted her hip and she let out
a soft yelp before she could stop herself. She glanced over at Mulder,
but he was out cold on his back, his mouth parted, one hand reaching
out to touch her leg, as if he was afraid to not have some physical
connection to her, even in sleep.
It took a moment for their location and situation to sink in, and when it
did she had to blink back the sharp sting of tears.
Rico was dead.
Rico was dead because of her. Trying to help her. She'd always
worried that his devotion to her would get him killed, and she'd been
right.
God.
She covered her eyes with her hand and fought back tears for the man
who had been so loyal to her, who had sacrificed everything for her.
And what had she given him in return? Freedom from the virus,
certainly, but beyond that? She wondered if she had taken far more than
she had been willing to give. Not that Rico would ever have suggested
it. Loyal to the end. Always.
And what of the man lying beside her? Would her responsibilities get
him killed, too? She couldn't mourn him again. Not now, not after all
that had happened between them. It would simply be too much. Maybe
he should have stayed in Denver, never grown his balls back.
No. The thought was unfair. If he had stayed in Denver, he would still
be dead, emotionally. She saw the way that his being with her, being
with the group, had revitalized him, given him back a spark he'd obviously
thought he'd lost forever. She could have told him that such a strong
flame could never be extinguished, merely muted for a time. Not that
he would have believed her. The men in her life never seemed to
believe her.
And she had told him how she hated him. She sighed and wiped
an escaped tear from her cheek. That had probably been a mistake.
He wouldn't be able to understand that it wasn't him that she hated so
much as the void he involuntarily left in her life. And could he grasp
the fact that in spite of herself, in spite of everything, she loved him
still? Despite the complicated emotions brewing inside? How could
she convince him of it?
And how in hell were either of them going to get through what was
in store for them today? Her hip throbbed as a reminder of it and
her stomach fluttered with dread. Please, God, if you are there,
help me to get through this. Help us.
Mulder stirred beside her, and she wiped hastily at her still welling
tears. A loud yawn signaled his wakefulness. "Hey," he said softly.
"Hey." She took a deep breath, could hear the tremulousness of it.
"Are you okay?" He touched her cheek with the back of his hand
and felt the moisture there. "Scully..."
"I was just thinking about Rico," she said.
"Oh. I'm sorry, Scully. I know he meant a lot to you."
"He died for me, Mulder. How am I supposed to make that up to
him?"
Mulder slid his arm under her shoulders and embraced her, lacing
the fingers of his free hand through hers. He pressed a kiss to
her temple. "By winning," he whispered into her hair.
She squeezed his hand, hard. "That's the least I can do," she
said bitterly.
"This wasn't your fault," Mulder reasoned. "Rico made the decision
to be there. You told him to leave, but he decided to stay. He made
his choice."
"I keep telling myself that, but it doesn't make it any easier."
"I know. But it's true."
"The truth has never been the comfort to me that it has to you,
Mulder," she snapped, unnecessarily harsh.
He withdrew from her at that, sat up, leaving the chill air behind to
blanket her. "It doesn't quite have the same cachet for me that
it once did, either." She could hear him rubbing his face with
his palms, chasing away the sleep.
Dammit. She reached out and touched the curve of his back in the
darkness, and noted, not for the first time, that he was thinner than
she remembered. She felt a pang of remorse, but couldn't quite bring
herself to be nice. "Then we're even, for a change, aren't we."
"I guess so." He leaned over, away from her touch, and flipped on
the lantern, bathing them in wan white light. "I wonder where the hell
Bishop is."
Changing the subject. Great. "He'll come when he can," she said
patiently.
"Maybe. Maybe not. I don't like the guy."
"I wouldn't say he's my favorite person either, but we don't have to like
him. We just have to trust him."
He turned to look at her, his face unnervingly ghastly in the weak
illumination. "Do you trust him?"
"I trust - trusted - Rico."
He held her gaze for an endless moment, then nodded. "Okay then."
She found herself unreasonably touched by his still unswerving faith in
her. What had she done to deserve it, these days? "Thanks," she
whispered.
He leaned closer, slowly, almost as if against his will. "For what?"
"For your trust."
He shook his head, mild exasperation apparent in his expression. "It's
always been yours."
She smiled at him, her earlier ire suddenly evaporated. She reached out
to touch his cheek and he leaned in to the gesture, sliding his stubble
against her palm. Then he bent over and kissed her gently, hesitantly,
making sure things were once more okay between them.
She slid her hand around to the back of his neck and pulled him down into
her, returning the kiss, using it as an apology. His tongue darted into her
mouth to play with hers and she was taken aback by the desire that shot
through her despite her pain. His hand slipped under her shirt on her
non-injured side, and she moaned softly when he caressed her breast
through her shirt.
"I wish I could make love to you right now," he whispered against her lips.
"Me too." It seemed like days since they had last been together, even
though it had really only been a matter of hours.
He lifted his head to look into her eyes, and she raised an eyebrow at him
when a devilish grin stole over his face. "What?"
"Nothing. Just relax." He kissed her again, nipping at her lower lip, then
moved to nuzzle her neck, drawing the skin in between his teeth, suckling
tenderly. When his hand slipped under the waistband of her panties, then
lower, she drew in her breath.
"Relax," he repeated. He placed his other arm underneath her shoulders,
bringing her closer to his body, then carefully slid one finger inside of her.
"Just hold still," he murmured into her hair.
She obeyed, biting her lip and closing her eyes. He moved his finger in
and out of her in a gentle, delicious rhythm, then inserted another one,
doubling the pressure. She sighed in pleasure at the sensation. Oh,
what a creative soul this man was. He kept up the pace, in and out,
with just the right amount of force and speed. When he began to use
his thumb to circle her engorged center, she thought her eyes would roll
back up into her head with pleasure. With a delicate massaging motion
he quickly brought her to a fever pitch, and she fought against the urge
to buck her hips against his hand. His lips danced along her face, her
neck, her ear, and she felt her breathing quicken, heard as if from far
away her own almost inaudible moans at his touch. His hold on her
tightened so as to immobilize her body as much as possible, even as
his manipulation of her speeded up.
He covered her mouth with his when she came, drawing her soft cries
into his mouth, her body barely moving against his. When she was
finished he gently withdrew his hand and his mouth, traced her lips
with his wet finger, then kissed her again.
"World's best medicine," she whispered when their lips parted once
more.
"And I didn't even go to medical school," he retorted with a grin.
"Could have fooled me." She pulled his head down to hers to kiss his
forehead. "Thank you."
"The pleasure was...well, not =all= mine," he said mischievously.
"That's for sure."
She was about to kiss him again when there was a noise at the door.
Mulder rolled away from her and grabbed his laser and his flashlight,
clicking the light on and aiming both hands at the entrance. He lowered
the weapon when Bishop stepped through, alone. "About time you got
here," Mulder said.
"Came as soon as I could," Bishop replied in his trademark bored tone.
"Get that light out of my eyes." Mulder clicked off the flashlight
and Bishop came closer. "Here."
Scully lifted her head to see what the terse man had brought them.
A few bottles of spring water, some bread and cheese, bandages
and tape, Tylenol, and antibiotic cream. "Thank you," she said
gratefully.
"You're welcome," he grunted. Mulder said nothing. Charming.
"Don't know how often I'll be able to come back, now."
"How long will the trip be?" Scully asked.
"Probably about five days. Give or take a day, depending on
Colonist patrol activity."
"Good thing Rico packed us some food," Mulder grumbled.
Scully closed her eyes at the mention of her friend's name. "He
always did have a knack for thinking of everything," she said.
Bishop grunted again. "Have to go. Be careful." He nodded
solemnly at Scully, then retreated, closing the door quietly behind
him.
After he left they managed to make a short bathroom run; when they
got back they ate meagerly of the bread and cheese Bishop had brought
them, not wanting to use up their supplies too soon. Mulder popped a
Dramamine after offering up a blessing to Frohike, then eased Scully
back down onto the blankets.
"I really, really need a cigarette," Mulder said suddenly.
She furrowed her brow in confusion. "I guess I don't mind if you smoke,
although it's probably not the best idea in a room with no windows."
"That's not it. I don't have any more," he said, chewing on his lower lip.
"I used up my last one and didn't have time to scrounge a replacement
pack."
"I'm sure Bishop would be able to find some for you on board," she said.
He shook his head. "I don't want to ask him for anything I don't have to.
Besides, maybe this is a good thing. It's a disgusting habit anyway." He
almost looked like he believed it.
"Mulder, there's no need to put yourself through those kind of cravings
right now."
He set his jaw. "I want to do it, Scully. I'm going to kick it. I'll be fine."
She eyed him dubiously. "Famous last words."
"You'll see. Now I have to do it, if only to prove to you that I can." He
grinned briefly, then sobered again. "I've been meaning to ask you...
I know this is kind of out of left field, but I've been thinking about it and
well...I'd like you to tell me how you hooked up with Skinner," he said
hesitantly. "You never told me, and I'd like to know. If that's okay."
Scully smiled wanly. Where the hell had that come from? They really,
really needed to get started working on her wound instead of chatting, but
she figured she might as well give him the answers he needed before she
was completely out of it from the pain. "Skinner. He, uh, he was sent to a
mining facility in West Virginia after he contracted the virus. He was there
for close to a year and a half before I was able to find out where he was and
have my people get him out of there. He was...not good. They'd worked
him, hard, and even after the virus left his body, his spirit remained somber
and weak. It was so sad, Mulder. He'd been so strong, in more ways than
one..." She trailed off at the memory of their former boss' battered body and
the frightened light in his eyes when he'd awakened from slavery. Something
within in her had melted at the sight and she'd held him long into the night,
trying to assure him that everything would be okay. It remained one of the
more surreal nights of her life, to say the least.
"But he recovered soon enough," Mulder surmised. "Well enough for you
to trust him to leave you."
She nodded. "Things were heating up in Greenland. More and more people
were congregating there, organizing, and I knew that our team needed to
be there, to take charge and distribute the vaccine. We'd devised a way
to send twenty or so people, but we needed someone to lead them. I'd
wanted Ari to go, but she refused, said she wanted to stay in America, for
better or worse." She shrugged. "I considered ordering her to go, but I
didn't want to take advantage of her that way. God knows I'd been taking
small advantages, of all of them, since the beginning." She took a deep
breath, remembering the betrayal in Ari's eyes when Dana had told her
she was even thinking about making the request into a command. She
shook her head harshly to dismiss the memory. "I didn't know what to
do. And then Skinner came to me. And I knew, from the way he looked
at me, with such determination and strength, that I'd thought he'd lost...
I knew he was ready. So he went."
"The two of you must have become close," Mulder said. A question, not
a statement, and there was a definite edge to his voice.
Since when was Mulder the jealous type? First Rico, now Skinner? She
couldn't even remember any time from before that he'd - well, there was
that sheriff from Pennsylvania, the vampire or whatever the hell he was.
And Ed Jerse. Did Ed Jerse count? She didn't see how. "We did," she
finally said in answer to the implied query. "Are you asking me if I slept
with him?"
He stiffened. "It's none of my business." Not looking at her, studying his
roughened hands.
"No, no it's not." She paused, half-tempted to just let him wonder. "Just
once, Mulder. One time. And it didn't mean anything, for either of us."
The color drained from his face and he sucked in his breath as if he'd just
been punched in the stomach. "I see."
"It was..." Why did she feel the need to make excuses? "It was about
need, Mulder. Need and loneliness and desperation. Nothing more.
Nothing less."
He swallowed hard. "Like that first time between you and me a couple
months ago?"
She gaped at him. "Mulder..."
"Forget it," he said abruptly. "It doesn't matter. And you don't owe me
any explanations."
"No, I don't," she said softly. "C'mere." She held out her arms and
he came, gently enfolding her in his arms and lying down beside
her. He was soft, and warm, and reassuring. "You know I love
you," she said.
"I know."
"Good." She snuggled her face into his chest, breathing deeply of him.
"Now I need you to do something for me."
He stiffened against her and she could feel his sudden fear. "Is this what
you wouldn't tell me about last night?"
"Yes." She took in a deep breath, hoping to draw in courage along with
the oxygen. "This burn, Mulder. The black that you see -- it's dead
tissue. If it's left alone, it'll putrefy and gangrene. It has to come off.
Right away. We should have done it last night, but I just couldn't
bear to have us go through that just then."
There was a moment of silence as he absorbed the information. A
startled sound escaped from his throat. "Scully, are you saying you
want me to -- to cut your skin off?"
"Dead tissue," she corrected automatically. "And yes, I'm afraid so. Do
you have a knife with you?"
"Yeah, I had one on me the night we went down into the tunnel and it
hasn't left my side since then," he said. "But -- you can't be serious.
Scully, I'm not a doctor. I don't even like the sight of blood, you know
that."
"I'll tell you what to do," she said with a calm she didn't feel. "Just heat up
the knife with your cigarette lighter to sterilize it, cut off anything black
down there, and slap on some bandages. Nothing to it." Oh god, she was
getting sick just thinking about it.
"Without anesthesia? No. I won't do it." He left her embrace and began
pacing in front of her, running his fingers through his hair in frustration.
"I can't do that to you, Scully. Don't ask it of me."
She pulled out her best command voice. "Mulder, if you don't do it,
this will gangrene, and most likely I will die on board this ship.
Would you prefer that scenario?"
He stopped in mid-pace and looked at her, stricken. "That's only two
choices, Scully. I'd really prefer a 'none of the above' option."
"Sorry, Mulder, two choices are all you've got. Pick one." That's it,
Dana, false bravado, way to go.
He closed his eyes briefly, visibly bracing himself, then opened them.
"Okay. Tell me what to do."
Mulder swallowed past the lump in his throat and flicked his Bic. The
small flame took a while to heat up the entire length of the blade, but
soon enough it was glowing and ready. He put the lighter aside and
looked down at Scully. She'd shed her panties and pulled her shirt
up to just under her breasts. And she couldn't seem to tear her eyes
away from the gleaming shaft of steel he held in his hand.
He'd given her some codeine a short while ago, but he didn't know if
that would even help much. He desperately wished he at least had some
kind of alcohol, both for sterilization and to get Scully piss drunk and
feeling no pain. Instead she gripped his leather belt in one hand, prepared
to bite down on it when the pain became too intense. He was also
supposed to straddle her legs to keep her from flailing around too
much during the "surgery." He couldn't even comprehend the courage
this was demanding of her.
And underneath it all he just wanted a fucking cigarette.
"Okay," he said, drawing her attention away from the knife and back to
him. "Are you ready?"
"No," she said reflexively. Then she tried to give him a brave smile.
"Yes. I'm ready as I'll ever be. I'll...I'll be okay, Mulder. I trust you."
"Glad one of us does," he muttered under his breath. He pulled the
battery lamp over so that it shone directly on the affected area. "What
if -" He fought down the bile that threatened to rise in his throat. "What
if I cut too much? Too deep?"
"You won't," Scully said firmly. "Just do it exactly like I showed you."
She closed her eyes and took deep even breaths, preparing herself.
He sat down on her legs as planned. His hand hovered over her hip and
wouldn't move.
"Mulder, please." Her voice was calm - too calm. "I need to get this
over with."
Right. He bit his lip, pressed the blade to the blackened tissue, and
began cutting.
Her screams were such torment to his ears that he was relieved when she
finally passed out from the pain and he could finish his work in silence.
She was pretty much out of it for the rest of the day as he kept a worried
vigil at her side. He'd applied the cream, and the bandages, just like
she'd told him, but he didn't know if it would be enough. These weren't
exactly ideal sanitary conditions. He was glad at least that she was
able to sleep and escape the pain that awaited her.
Bored and worried out of his mind, he paced, he chewed his nails, he
slammed his hands against packing crates, and most of all he decided
he'd do just about anything for a cigarette. If he closed his eyes and
thought hard enough he could almost feel the smoke curling through
his lungs...
"God damn it!" he swore, then glanced guiltily at Scully, who was still
dead to the world. He'd gladly murder someone for a smoke.
And then he stopped cold at the thought. Who was he to throw the word
murder around so casually?
Murderer. That was what he had become. No sugarcoating it. All those
lives taken at his hand.
Was he really any better than They were?
He fell to his knees at Scully's side and buried his face in his hands,
finally giving way to sobs, crying for her, for himself, for all of them.
Scully drifted in and out of consciousness that day, and the next,
trying to sleep as much as possible to avoid the pain that shot through
her body with every breath. When she was awake she tried to talk
to Mulder, but he seemed hesitant to force her to make the effort. He
was so attentive and solicitous that it kind of weirded her out, even.
"Are you...sure you didn't go to medical school?" she managed to ask
at one point.
He gave her a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "You caught me,
Scully. I've been holding out on you."
"Better...make it up to me," she said.
"I will," he said with unexpected vehemence, taking her hand in his.
"I promise."
When Mulder woke on the third morning, he knew instantly that
something was wrong. Scully's body was alarmingly hot next to
his, and she moaned softly in her sleep.
Oh god, he thought. Oh god shit no. He wrestled with waking her;
the decision was taken from him when her eyes snapped open.
"Mulder..." She licked her lips, reached up to rub her eyes. "Don't...
feel so good."
He touched her forehead with the back of his hand. "You're burning
up, Scully. You'd better let me take a look at your wound."
She nodded weakly, and he lifted the blanket, then carefully removed
the bandages. And drew in a sharp hiss of breath. The sore was
an angry red, with greenish pus seeping out along one edge. "Shit,
Scully, I think it's infected."
She gingerly raised herself up on her elbows to look down at herself.
After studying it for a moment she let out a very un-Scully-like whimper.
"Yeah, it's infected. Do we still have...the sulfa cream?"
He grabbed the first aid kit. "Yeah, we do. Not much, but we do.
I'm going to run to the bathroom to wash my hands, then I'll come back
and put some more on, okay?" He kissed her on the forehead and ran
to the head, trying not to think of the complications this could cause.
Scully sick in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean with no one to help them
but Bishop...and at least two days left in their journey. Well, if
it was simple, it wouldn't be my life, he thought grimly.
And underneath it all: Smoke, smoke, smoke. I need a smoke. He
shook his head impatiently. That line of thinking only led to madness.
When he returned he tried to apply the ointment as gently as possible,
but she still yelped in pain every time his fingers came in contact with
the raw and putrid skin.
"Mulder, I need...some kind of antibiotic pill," she told him. "Penicillin
at the very least. Ancef would be better."
"I could try sneaking out to find Bishop," he suggested, but she shook
her head.
"No. Just wait for him to come. Don't want you to take any chances.
Please stay."
He wanted to protest, wanted to run out of there anyway so that he could
do something, anything productive to help her. But he knew she was right.
"Okay," he promised. "I'll stay here with you."
"Thanks." She closed her eyes. "I'm going to take a nap now." This even
though she had just woken up minutes before.
He reached out to lace her fingers through his. "You sleep. I'll be here."
When Bishop arrived late that evening - and thank god for wristwatches,
because otherwise Mulder would have lost all track of time long ago in
the dark recesses of the ship - he was of little help. Not surprisingly.
"I can't steal drugs from the infirmary. They'll notice that kind of thing."
Mulder stood inches away from the man, fists clenched at his sides, trying
not to hit him. "I don't care if they notice! She's sick! She has to have
medicine or god only knows what could happen to her!"
Bishop's eyes slid over to Scully, who had modestly pulled one of the
blankets up to her waist in spite of her fever. "I can't."
Goddammit, the first person he finds who doesn't have some irrational
devotion to Scully, and it's the one person who could have used some of
it. He grabbed Bishop by the front of his shirt, pulled him closer so that
their faces were centimeters apart. "You get her the medicine she needs, or I
will kill you," he said. Flat. Unemotional. The tone of a professional,
racked with guilt though he might be. He could hear Scully's murmured
protest behind him, but ignored her. He and Bishop were going to have an
understanding, dammit. The man was out of his mind to even think about
screwing with someone who'd just quit smoking cold turkey.
Bishop's mouth opened and closed a few times before compressing into
a thin line. "I'll see what I can do," he said finally. "But you'll have to
wait, I'm not going to just run in there."
Mulder reluctantly released the man, but continued to skewer him with
his gaze. "That's a little more like it. But I warn you Bishop. Do
=not= fuck with me. You have no idea who you're dealing with."
Bishop glared at him, but left without another word.
"You shouldn't have pissed him off," Scully said tiredly. "All you're going
to do is make him hate you, and that won't help us any."
He knelt down next to her, smoothed her hair away from her face. His
stomach flipped over at the sight of her. Her skin was pasty white, pallid,
and perspiration beaded on her forehead and the bridge of her nose.
"Don't worry about it. I know his type. He just needed to be intimidated
so he'd get his butt in gear."
"I hope you're right," she whispered.
"I wish I could do more," he said helplessly.
"You can," she said after a beat.
He touched her cheek with the back of his hand, tried not to think about
how clammy her skin was against his. "Anything," he swore.
She looked at him with blue eyes bright with fever. "Talk to me," she said.
"Take...my mind off things."
"Umm...how about those Yankees?" he said, and her weak laugh warmed
his heart.
"I remember you saying that to me when I was in the hospital," she said
quietly. He took her fingers in his, massaged the top of her hand with his
thumb as she talked. "You wanted to take my mind off of my illness then,
too, but I didn't want you to."
He swallowed past the lump in his throat, remembering. "I look back and
can't imagine how I managed to survive that."
A faint chuckle. "Mulder, I don't know how you've survived this long. How
many times did I have to save...your sorry butt?"
"The retrovirus..."
"Ellens Air Force Base..."
"The mothmen in Florida..."
"The AI, with Esther Nair..."
"Oh god, the AI," Mulder said, grinning. "I never told you what that was like,
did I?"
"Tell me now," she said simply.
And so he did, embellishing the story for laughs, painting a vivid picture of his
arm stumps, the pornographic nurses, and Fantasy Scully's Ninjitsu Princess
performance, as her occasional laughs spurred him on to greater detail.
"Tell me more," she said, still smiling, when he had finished.
"More of what?"
"More of the old times," she said. "You and me. Solving cases. Talk to me
about it. Remind me."
"What, like the time we herded those sheep as a distraction for the Peacock
boys?" he asked, squeezing her hand.
She lay still for a moment, gathering her strength, then nodded. "Tell me."
So he set off on a humorous stroll down memory lane, exaggerating whenever
possible, even though she knew full well that he was doing so. He talked until
he was hoarse, long into the night, his fingers laced through hers, of raining
toads and chivalrous vampires and sideshow freaks and shapeshifting Don Juan
wannabes. Scully seemed content to just listen, although she did now and then
raise an eyebrow whenever he stated some unproven oddity of a case as assumed
fact. That she wasn't making the effort to actually argue with him somehow
underscored her weakness to him more than anything previous, however, and the
fear burgeoned in his heart with a paralyzing intensity.
When she finally drifted off to sleep, he continued to sit and watch her, her
face ghostly in the light of the battery lamp, the only sounds the occasional
skittering of a rat and her deep, ragged breathing.
Scully awoke bathed in fire.
Her skin was hot, so hot, and she kicked at the blankets, wanting them off of
her. Why was it so hot?
When she tried to take a deep breath, the shooting pain in her hip reminded
her. The infection. Oh god. How was she going to get out of this one?
Even if Bishop did bring her some antibiotics, she needed some serious
medical attention, and soon. But she didn't dare let on to Mulder how dire
the situation was. He was out of his mind with worry as it was.
She turned her head to watch him sleeping beside her. He'd been so sweet
last night, rambling on, taking her mind off the pain in her body and the heat
on her brow. She didn't even remember half of what he'd said; after a while
she'd just closed her eyes and listened to the sound of his voice, letting it
soothe her like a balm.
Well, good. He was getting an opportunity to pay her back for the past three
years. It would probably be healing for both of them, in a sick and twisted
fashion.
Oh god, it was so hot...
Mulder stirred and woke with a start, reflexively reaching for her, jerking his
hand back when he felt how hot and sweaty she was. "How are you feeling?"
he murmured, propping himself up and placing a gentle kiss on her forehead.
"Hot. It...hurts, Mulder," she managed to gasp. Even talking was painful at
this point.
"I'll be right back. Be still."
Yeah, like she had any other options. She watched him grab a t-shirt and leave.
What was he doing?
She got her answer a minute later when he returned with the sopping wet shirt.
He sat down next to her and placed the cold cloth on her brow in a makeshift
compress. "Feels great," she said. "Thanks."
"We have a couple of more codeine pills left, too. Hold on." He helped her
take one of the pills and a swallow of water, then she put her head back down
and closed her eyes.
"Still sleepy?"
She shook her head. "No. Just resting my eyes." She felt him take her hand
and rub his thumb over her palm. So tender and soft, it felt so nice...
When she woke again, it was to find Mulder staring at her, fidgeting with
a small container in his hands.
"Do you always stare at me while I'm sleeping?" she asked dryly.
He had the decency to look sheepish. "Sorry. No, I don't. Well, not always."
A grin, and he held up the small cylinder. "Bishop came by while you were
asleep. Gave me some penicillin. Said it was all they had. I didn't want to
wake you, though."
"Thanks." She held out her hand for the white tablets and he helped her to
sit up and take them with some water. "This is good, Mulder, these will help,"
she said, hoping to reassure him, to take some of the worry out of his eyes.
"Great," he said, but his tone was doubtful and his expression even more
so.
"Did Bishop say whether we're on schedule?" she asked.
He sat down cross-legged next to her, looking relieved at the change of subject.
"A little behind, but we should be there in three days. I hope that's soon
enough." The worry resurfaced in his eyes, making them a deep hazel.
She reached out her hand and he took it, squeezing so tight it hurt. "I'm
going to be fine, Mulder. You have to trust me on this. Okay?"
He opened his mouth as if to protest, but shut it and nodded instead. "Okay,"
he said, tight-lipped. She knew he didn't believe her, but there wasn't much
she could do about it. Didn't have the energy to try to convince him otherwise.
"You should eat something. One of us has to keep our strength up."
"What makes you think I haven't..." He trailed off at her expression. "You
know me entirely too well," he said accusingly.
"It's a curse."
They shared a slow smile. "I'll make you a deal," Mulder said. "I'll eat if
you do too."
Her stomach heaved at the thought. "I don't think I'd be able to keep anything
down," she said.
"Try."
Trying to keep down some canned fruit turned out to be a mistake, and a short
time later Mulder was holding her head for her as she retched into a pail he
had scrounged from the bathroom. Holding my head while I puke, Scully
thought fuzzily. Must be love.
"Next time I'll listen to the doctor," Mulder said when she sank back down
once more.
She shook her head weakly. "You were right to make me try. Unfortunately,
I probably vomited up all the penicillin I took earlier."
"Shit. Should you take some more?"
"No. Just in case, I should wait a couple of hours, so I don't take too much,"
she explained. "It'll be okay. Just let me rest some more..." And then she
remembered nothing.
Mulder paced the length of the hold, out of his mind with worry and frustrated
with impotence. Scully had tried twice more the day before to take the penicillin,
and both times it had come right back up. She needed intravenous medication, the
sooner the better, and there wasn't a goddamn thing Mulder could do about it.
Bishop was adamant during his daily checkup that bringing Scully up to the
infirmary would do little more than seal her doom, and Mulder grudgingly had
to admit that he was probably right. Stowaways were hardly welcome under
normal circumstances; unwanted passengers under the current Colonist regime
were unthinkable. If you were concealing yourself and your identity, you were
probably evading the Colonists; and if you were, then you were fair game for
some self-serving mercenary type to turn you in and gain some security for
himself in the bargain. Mulder wasn't going to allow that to happen to Scully,
not when They now most likely knew about Scully's resistance activities.
In the meantime, he had no choice but to watch her get sicker and sicker.
Her fever had not abated, and if anything seemed to be rising with each
passing hour. She was currently tossing and turning fitfully in the blankets,
murmuring in her sleep. She had not awoken yet that day, even though it
was almost noon according to his watch. He cursed under his breath; he
wasn't sure how much he could take: the darkness, the claustrophobia, the
nictoine fits, the building stink of their unwashed bodies and her illness.
He knew it was petty of him to be bothered by such things, but it was
threatening to overwhelm him all the same.
Nonetheless, it felt good to be helping her. To be rooting for someone to
live, rather than making them die.
"Mulder..." Scully moaned from her dreams.
He was at her side instantly, taking her hand, smoothing her brow. "Wake
up, Scully. Come on, you're having a nightmare, wake up..."
She came back to consciousness slowly, her eyelids fluttering, her pupils
slowly coming into focus. "Mulder?"
"Yeah. You were having a bad dream. How are you feeling?"
"Hot. What are you doing here?"
He frowned. "Where else would I be?"
Her eyes were bright and glassy above the dark rings that shadowed them.
"Don't you have to be at the hearing?"
The blood froze in his veins. "What hearing?"
"Blevins," she murmured, tossing her head to one side. "Have to...say it
was me...let me save you."
Jesus Christ. She must be thinking she was back in the hospital, dying
of cancer, while the Bureau accused him of murder. "Scully, that...that
was a long time ago. Look at me, Scully. Dana." Her first name coming
from his lips got her attention and she turned her head back to look up
at him. "What year is it, Dana?"
She creased her brow in thought. "1997," she said finally.
"No. No, Scully, it's 2003, remember?" He took her face in his hands,
caressed her cheeks with his thumbs. Her skin burned his fingertips.
She licked her lips and he picked up the cup of water he had set aside for
her, he held her head up so that she could take a small swallow, then
gently lowered her back into the blankets. "Mulder...I don't want to die,"
she whispered.
His head spun. Did she mean from her wound, or from the cancer she
thought was ravaging her body, or just in general? "You're not going to
die, Scully," he said, wincing when his voice cracked on her name.
"Don't leave me," she whispered, reaching out for his hand.
He grasped it, gently but firmly. "I'm not going to leave you." God, she
was so hot. "Ever."
"Sweet Mulder," she muttered, and he had the eerie sensation that she
was no longer talking to him, but to herself. "So loyal...but why can't you
tell me you love me? Even when I'm dying, you still can't say it..."
He could feel sweat breaking out on his own brow, and didn't know whether it
was from fear, the emotion incurred by her poignant words, or some sort of
sympathetic feverish phenomenon. Maybe it was all three. "But I do love
you, Scully. I didn't have the guts to tell you then. You know me, I'd rather
go up against a shapeshifting bounty hunter than my own feelings. Besides,
no one scares me more than you do." He'd hoped for some sort of amused
reaction from her at that, but her blank expression embedded the fear deeper
into his heart.
"I should have told you then, Scully," he continued, dimly realizing that he
was, at this point, babbling. "I wasted so much time. We both did. You know,
Scully, it wouldn't have killed you to say it first." He bit down on his lip at
his careless choice of words. Not that she seemed to be hearing him in any
case. "You're the one who's supposed to open my eyes, right? For once,
you didn't do your job. The one time you don't point out to me what's right
under my nose, and it has to be something that important."
"Mulder..." Her quiet moan cut him off. "What...what are you babbling
about?"
He laughed with relief and smoothed the hair off of her forehead. "Welcome
back."
"Back from where?" she asked, confused.
"You were out of it for a minute there -- you thought you were back in the
hospital, years ago...when you had cancer."
"Oh god," Scully groaned weakly. "Sorry if I scared you."
"'It's all right. You're better now." He squeezed her hand gently again. "I'm
going to go get you another compress - be right back." He placed a kiss on
her cheek and then headed for the bathroom with a relieved smile plastered
on his face.
He had just finished saturating his t-shirt with cold water when they jumped
him.
He fought with all of the precision and skill that the past three years had instilled
in him, not to mention with all of his Bureau training, but sometimes there was
only so much you could do against brute force. There were three of them, and
only one of him, and each of them weighed a lot more than he did.
All too soon he surrendered to blackness.
When half an hour passed and Mulder still had not returned from the
bathroom, Scully's anxiety boiled over into full-blown panic. Unfortunately,
seeing as how she could barely breathe without gasping in pain, there
wasn't much she could do about it. What could have happened to him?
He wouldn't decide to go on an impromptu scouting mission without
telling her first. And if he had run into Bishop, he would have brought
the man back here with him.
He had to be in trouble. What if he had been discovered? Caught? Turned
over to the Colonists?
And what about her? If Mulder was captured, would Bishop be scared off and
not help her to leave the ship? She couldn't possibly make it out of here on her
own. She tried to prop herself up on her elbows to gauge her strength, but was
only able to remain in that position for about thirty seconds before collapsing
back onto the blankets, breathing hard and sweating and whimpering in pain.
She tried to convince herself that Bishop had to come through for her. Didn't
he? Could Rico have made a rare mistake when he'd selected the taciturn
man for this mission? For that matter, she hadn't had a chance to get any
information on Bishop herself, the way she routinely did with new recruits or
contacts. Maybe Rico wasn't the only one who'd made a mistake this time.
Oh god, Mulder, she thought desperately, please, please be safe. I don't
know if I can do this alone.
Mulder woke to a pounding headache and a surprising shaft of sunlight
streaming into his eyes - which didn't help his throbbing head any. He sat
up slowly, moving his head as little as possible, and attempted to take in
his surroundings.
The cabin was tiny, equipped only with the bunk he was sitting on, a toilet,
sink, and a beat-up wooden night table with a cup of water on top of it. The
porthole above his head had iron bars covering the view. He realized, with
a sickening stomach, that he was in the brig.
Okay, Spook, how are you going to get out of this one?
For that matter, how was he going to get Scully out of this one? She was
too weak and sick to get anywhere on her own, and he didn't trust Bishop
as far as he could throw him, despite Scully's faith in Rico. Mulder was
the only person who had a shot at getting Scully to Greenland alive. And
he was not going to let her down. Not again.
He inspected every inch of the small cabin, searching in vain for something
that could be used as a weapon, or to pick the lock, but he came up empty.
When he peered out the porthole in curiosity, he saw nothing but blue sea
in all directions. He finally pounded half-heartedly on the door, not particularly
wanting a confrontation with whoever was keeping him there, but desperate for
something to happen anyway. No response. He let out a soft curse and sat back
down on the bunk, chewing on his lower lip in frustration. Once they got to
Greenland and the nearest Colonist outpost, he was a dead man. He didn't care
about that so much, but he'd be damned if he'd take Scully down with him.
He had just futilely combed the length and breadth of the brig for the fifth
time when he heard the sound of a key being turned in the lock. He sat down
on the bed and tried to look as innocent as possible.
A tall, burly man of indeterminate descent filled the doorway, the stormy
expression on his face accentuated by his full, wiry black beard and bushy
eyebrows. "Who are you?" he asked without preamble, in a rumbling voice
thick with some sort of Eastern European accent.
"Greenpeace," he said without thinking, then steeled himself when the man
advanced on him with long strides. Mom always said my big mouth would
get me in trouble...
His captor studied him for a moment, and Mulder forced himself to meet
the taller man's dark eyes without flinching. Then, with a calm, almost casual
air, he backhanded Mulder across the face.
Mulder fell back on the bed, reeling in pain, and brought his hand up to his
mouth. The coppery taste of blood bathed his tongue; he hoped he hadn't
broken his nose or a cheekbone. He just lay there, trying to keep his
breathing even, biting back the torrent of curses that threatened to break free.
"You will tell us who you are and what you are doing here," the man said,
flexing the fingers on his hand. "One way or another. And if we don't find
out by the time we reach Nuuk, then the Colonists will be more than happy
to discover that for themselves."
Mulder stared down at the coarse blanket, refusing to be baited.
"Who are you meeting in Greenland? Resistance?"
A disdainful snort was Mulder's only response.
"Very well. I'll be back shortly. You may want to rethink your attitude
before then, or you might not like the consequences." He exited the room,
closing the door with a resounding clang behind him.
Well, I'm screwed, Mulder thought. He knew from experience that he
didn't hold up too well under torture. Of course, he'd never been tormented
with Scully at risk before, and he suspected that would go a long way
toward helping his motivation. He got up and staggered over to the sink,
spat blood onto the white porcelain, then rinsed his mouth out with water
from the tap. He prodded his nose, his face, and was relieved to discover that
nothing appeared to be broken. Then he poked around his mouth with his
tongue and discovered a back tooth was loose. Wonderful. Somehow he
didn't think he'd be receiving professional dental care any time soon.
Nuuk. The burly man had said Nuuk. That wasn't their scheduled stop -
Nuuk was the small island off the coast that served as the Colonists' base of
operations over there, meager as it was. Skinner and the rest were camped
out somewhere on the coast of the mainland, Scully had said. Were they
going to continue on to the coast after this little pit stop to toss him to the
wolves, or were they going to sit in Nuuk until Scully got sicker and
sicker and -
No. He refused to even think it.
Mulder sat back down on the bunk, buried his face in his hands, and
fleetingly wished that he still believed in a god.
Scully drifted in a sea of fire, her head expanding like a hot air balloon and
the wound on her hip pulsing in a rhythm of pain. She reached out for a
glass of water and only managed to spill it on herself. She whimpered as
she realized, through her haze of fever, that she would not be able to get
any more water on her own, and cursed herself for being so helpless.
Rico. Where was Rico? Why wasn't he here?
No, not Rico, she reminded herself. Mulder. Mulder was around here
somewhere, wasn't he? He had gone to get her cold water, oh, she wanted
some cold water so much, needed it to soothe her burning skin.
A noise at the door grabbed her attention, and she tried to lift her head
to see who was there, but it was no use. She was too weak. The door
opened, and she heard footsteps on the cold, hard floor coming toward
her.
"Mulder...?"
For some reason, Mulder's captors decided not to further interrogate him for
the rest of the voyage. Apparently they assumed that the Colonists could more
than handle that on their own, or else they didn't want to take a chance of
damaging what might be an important package.
He choked off a bitter laugh. Oh, if they only knew what precious cargo they
were carrying...
He spent two nights in that small room, the monotony of worrying about
Scully and anticipating his fate broken only by periodic visits from another
Eastern European built like a linebacker, who brought him canned tuna
to eat. Mulder decided that if he got out of this alive, he would never eat
fish again.
On the third morning of his captivity, his daily view out the porthole revealed
a rugged, imposing island looming up ahead. Nuuk. A medium-sized spaceship
blocked out part of the sun as it hovered on the horizon, the light glinting off the
metal alloy of the hull. His heart fell to somewhere around his knees as the reality
of the situation hit him, hard. He was going to die here. And more than likely
Scully was, too.
Go team.
When they came to collect him he put up a fight, tackling the first crewman
and getting a few good punches in on the second, but the third had a baseball
bat with him. He didn't stand a chance.
The last thought he had before slipping into unconsciousness was that he
had let Scully down again after all. And probably for the last time.
Someone was helping Scully to drink a sip of water, but she couldn't figure
out who it was. Everything was fuzzy, as if she was looking at the world
through a smear of Vaseline. She gratefully gulped down the tepid liquid
and lay back down on the blankets. Blessedly cool fingers touched the
inside of her wrist. "Mulder..."
"Mulder's not here," the deep voice said. "Now sleep."
Scully closed her eyes and could not find the strength to disobey.
When Mulder came to again it was to discover that he had already been
transferred to the Colonists' headquarters. He knew this immediately from
the organic nature of the cell in which he was being held; the walls were
porous, greenish, and appeared to be covered in a thin layer of slime, even
though they felt dry to the touch. He lay on a thin slab of metal that jutted
out from the wall, and the diffuse overhead lighting was a warm yellow hue.
But the most chilling part of it all was the utter silence. No hum of artificial
lighting, no noises from the outside, nothing that would suggest the everyday
routine of living. It was like being trapped in a tomb. Which, he thought
bitterly, this room might well end up being.
The sudden thought of Scully knocked the breath out of his chest. Was
she safe? Was she even alive? She had been so ill the last time he had
seen her, and without someone to give her the necessary antibiotics, she'd
probably worsen quickly. Of course, if the Colonists managed to pry her
location from his mind, it would all be for naught in any case. He'd heard
tales of the Colonists' interrogation methods, and the recollection sent
lightning chills down his spine even as a cold fist took hold of his stomach
and squeezed.
He had to fight them. Scully's life depended on it - if she wasn't already dead.
The door slid open silently - he hadn't even realized there was a break in the
wall until it moved aside - and two Colonists entered the room. Their ovoid
black eyes regarded him blankly, but he could sense the malice emanating
from them just the same. The one in the lead extended one spindly arm toward
him, the elongated fingers grasping at the air.
//You will come with us,// the voice sounded in his mind, and he suddenly knew
the being was male from the shade of brown the words generated in his head.
Mulder clenched his fists at his sides. "I won't tell you anything," he felt the
need to say. Bravado in the face of the inevitable.
//You will tell us all,// the first alien said impassively, as the Colonist behind
him pointed its laser weapon at Mulder.
The stun bolt that hit Mulder squarely in the chest left him twitching and
incapacitated as the aliens carried him out of the cell and into the waiting
interrogation chamber.
Scully felt that she was being carried, but she couldn't ascertain if
it was indeed reality she was experiencing, or some sort of lucid dream
state. She'd hoped that it was Mulder who was holding her, but the male
form pressed up against her was too thin, the chest not broad enough.
She did know that she was outside, and that it was dark, and quiet.
And then she heard a voice that somehow penetrated through the fog
enveloping her brain, a voice she hadn't heard in some time.
"Jesus, what happened to her?"
"Skinner..." she murmured, reaching out blindly for him. She felt his
large, rough hand take hers.
"Got wounded. Infected. Sick," came the laconic reply from somewhere
above her head.
"Where's Mulder?" Skinner asked. She felt her body being transferred from
one embrace to the other as Skinner gathered her up against him. They were
moving quickly now, tendrils of cold night air like icy pricks against Scully's
inflamed skin.
"Mulder...can't leave...Mulder," she moaned into his chest.
"Got captured," the man she finally realized was Bishop replied. "Gave him
to the Colonists at Nuuk."
Scully's eyes flew open as Bishop's words registered through her haze
of pain. "What? Mulder! No! We have to help him -" She writhed in
Skinner's arms, terror wrapping around her heart. "Skinner, no, please,
we have to save Mulder. They'll kill him..."
"Dana, calm down," Skinner commanded. "We're going to get Mulder out
of there. But you need to rest now, okay?"
"Mulder..." she protested weakly, but her outburst had drained all the strength
out of her, and in spite of herself she slipped back into a fitful slumber.
Mulder huddled in a corner of his cell, concentrating on the act of breathing,
drawing air into his lungs, then releasing long, steady breaths. Don't let
the mind wander. Don't remember what they did to you. Don't think about
Scully.
His brain felt like a puddle of goo seeping out of his ears and his vision
had still not lost its fuzziness around the edges. The aliens had taken
his mind, turned it inside out, and then hung it out to dry. He dug his nails
into the palm of his hand, then bit down on his lower lip until he drew
blood, focusing on the pain as an anchor to reality. His throat was dry
and raw from screaming, and the trickle of blood on the back of his
tongue made him cough until he retched.
The images they'd injected into his brain sporadically flitted across
his memory: nightmarish horrors, his sister's body broken and dismembered,
Scully being flayed alive --
He punched the wall with all of his might, crying out when he felt a bone
in his finger break. He collapsed onto his side and curled up into a fetal
position, concentrating again on his breathing, and clinging to one thought.
If they're still tormenting you, it means they haven't found Scully. That
mantra was the only thing keeping him sane.
The door to the cell slid open and three Colonists entered silently,
advancing toward him with their small, steady strides. He was horrified
to hear a whimper emerge from his mouth, and he bit off a sob. "No..."
he whispered. "Not again..." He curled even tighter in on himself, holding
his arms up in front of his face.
They bent over and grabbed him roughly under his elbows, then began
dragging him across the floor, oblivious to his protests. "No," he cried,
"no more, please, I =can't=..."
By the time they reached the interrogation room again his pleas had
degenerated into mindless screams.
"You're looking a lot better."
Scully managed to give Skinner a weak smile. "It's the drugs. They're
misleading."
He smirked, then sat down on the edge of her mattress, glancing
surreptitiously at the beeping monitors on either side of the bed as
he did so. Scully had to admit she was impressed by the medical
setup they had rigged up in here. If she didn't know better, she'd
swear she was a patient in an actual hospital, not some washed-up
resistance leader holed up in an abandoned elementary school in
the town of Narsaq, Greenland. The IV in her hand was all too
authentic, and even the doctor who checked in on her maintained
an air of professionalism that almost seemed out of place with their
circumstances. There was also the amazing fact that the afore-
mentioned doctor had managed to pull off an ad hoc skin graft on
Scully's hip. It ached unbearably, but at least it would look a hell
of a lot better than if it had been left to retract and scar.
"Seriously, how are you feeling?" Skinner persisted.
"I'm fine. I'm much more concerned about Mulder at the moment,"
she said grimly.
He nodded, and she saw something flicker across his face, but it
was already gone. "I'm putting together a team to get him out of there.
But it's going to be tight. We've never successfully retrieved anyone
from an alien outpost."
"Well, then this will be the first time, won't it."
He didn't look at her. "It will."
She placed her hands over her stomach, as if that could somehow still
the butterflies swarming around in there. She had heard stories of what
was done to prisoners of the Colonists. If even half of them were true...
She closed her eyes, dizzy all of a sudden at the thought of Mulder in
alien clutches. Hurt, maybe even dead. No. "When are you leaving?"
He looked back up at her. "Tomorrow night."
"Tomorrow?" she said, raising her voice. "Skinner, he's been there for
two days. We'll be lucky if he's not...if he's not..." She couldn't bring
herself to say it; settled instead for giving Skinner the most vile look
she could manage.
He flinched. "We have to plan this out extremely carefully. This isn't
some raid for canned goods or even weapons. This is going right into
the heart of the beast. One false move, and we're all dead. You
know that. Shit, it's first-year Academy logic, Dana."
He was right. Of course he was right. And a month ago, she would have
agreed with him instantly. But now all that mattered was getting the
man she loved back in one piece. She sighed. She was definitely
getting soft. Too bad.
But she was still in charge, and it would do Skinner well to remember that.
"I want you to run the entire operation past me before you go anywhere,"
she said in her best commander tone of voice. "I get final word on how
this thing goes down, and yes, that is an order. Got it?"
His jaw worked. "Yes, ma'am."
She lay back down on the pillow, unreasonably weary all of a sudden.
"Fine. Then go, please."
He exhaled harshly, but didn't protest. His boots clomped loudly on
the linoleum as he left.
Scully closed her eyes and tried not to think of a world without Mulder.
She'd been there before. She'd be damned if she was ever going back.
The screaming alarms caused Mulder to cry out in pain and cover his
hands with his ears. What was happening? Was this some new form
of torture? Had they abandoned their sophisticated mind probes and
come up with something more straightforward? Without even coherent
thought he found himself crawling underneath the metal slab that served
as his bed, trying to get away from the source of the noise. He curled
up in the fetal position that had become almost his constant state of being
and prayed to for it all to just...stop.
When the door slid open his eyes watered. They were coming
for him again. And that there was no way he was going to be able to
hide anything from them this time. His defenses had finally been
completely shattered. He only hoped that if Scully had indeed died,
he would be allowed to join her soon.
"Where the hell is he?" came a decidedly human voice. A frisson of
of hope ran down Mulder's spine.
"There. Under the bunk." Another human?
Mulder turned his head and saw a pair of combat boots directly in front
of his face. Aliens wearing shoes now? Huh? "Please, just leave me
alone," he managed to croak.
His next sight was the last thing he expected to see: a familiar face,
although he couldn't seem to place it. His mind swam with images and
nameless horrors as he searched for the answer. He gave up, closing
his eyes and banging his head softly against the floor, focusing on the pain
instead. If I'm hurting, then I'm still alive...
"Mulder, it's Walter Skinner. We're going to get you out of here. Can
you come out? Can you stand?"
He ceased his self-inflicted torment and looked at the man again. Skinner,
he'd said. He was... "Skinner?" he asked softly, not daring to believe it.
Relief flooded the older man's eyes. "Yeah, Mulder, your old boss, remember?
Now I'm ordering you to come out from under there. We don't have much
time. Or do you want the slimies to find us before we can get you out?"
At the thought of being back in the aliens' grasp Mulder forced himself into
action. He gritted his teeth and crawled on his hands and knees from
underneath the bunk. Skinner helped him to stand, but he swayed back
and forth unsteadily.
"Jesus, look at him," a female soldier said.
"Cut the chatter and let's move," Skinner snapped. "All right, Mulder, let's
see if my weight lifting regimen will pay off." He hunched down and slung
Mulder over his shoulders in a fireman's carry. Mulder fought back a surge
of nausea as the floor seemed to rush up at him and his vision blurred.
"Cover me, people," Skinner said.
The flight out of the aliens' headquarters passed in a loud, jarring blur
from Mulder's vantage point. The hiss of laser fire, the blood-curdling
sound of alien and human screeches of pain, the stench of burning flesh -
he wasn't sure if it was even real, or just another tactic of the Colonists to
torture his vulnerable mind.
"Move it people, move, move!" Skinner yelled, and as his footsteps
quickened Mulder really thought he might be sick. He squeezed his
eyes tight and tried not to vomit.
When he opened his eyes again, he caught the flash of a laser bolt almost
directly underneath his face, and flinched at the heat it generated against
his skin. The image of Scully's blackened flesh beneath his hands
popped into his brain, and he fought to erase it, with no luck.
"Christ on a pony," he heard Skinner murmur from somewhere above him.
His old boss spun around -- Mulder's gorge rising once more -- and let
off a stream of laser bolts himself. Out of the corner of his eye Mulder
saw the gray form collapse into a crumpled heap. He allowed himself a
grim smile before he finally passed out.
The bustle in the hallway outside of her room woke Scully from a restless
sleep. She blinked into the darkness, getting her bearings, when she
heard Skinner's voice barking an order. Her heart leapt into her throat.
She clawed at the IV in her hand, pulled it out and threw it down on the bed,
then swung her legs over the side and eased herself up. She teetered at
first, but after she stopped to take a few deep breaths to steady herself she
felt well enough to move. She stumbled out into the hallway.
A group of the men and women who had accompanied Skinner on the
raid were clustered around the doorway of the room next to hers. She
pushed past them despite their murmured protests.
This room was nearly identical to the one where she was staying: monitors,
IV stand, bed with rail guards. Skinner and Dr. May hovered over the
still, dark form in the bed.
"Mulder?"
Skinner and Dr. May turned to look at her. "You should be in bed, Dana,"
Dr. May said reproachfully. Scully just glared at the older woman and
swept past her, her mind focused on the dark form on the bed.
It was Mulder, dark rings under his closed eyes, nicks on his hands, greasy
hair, an angry cut on his lip. She felt tears welling as she smoothed the hair
away from his forehead and caressed his cheek gently. "What did they do
to you?" she whispered, watching his face.
"He was a mess when we found him," Skinner said quietly. "Curled up
in a ball under his bunk, non-responsive, disoriented...they did a bang-up
job on him."
She glanced sharply at Dr. May. "Is he going to be all right?"
The doctor placed her hands in the pockets of her lab coat and looked
back at Scully uncomfortably. "Physically, he's fine, just undernourished
and dehydrated. Mentally..." She shrugged. "I don't know, Dana. Only
time will tell."
Scully turned her attention back to her lover, who was beginning to stir.
"Mulder? Mulder, it's me. You're safe now, no one's going to hurt you
any more..."
His eyelids fluttered, then opened. His gaze was blank until he seemed
to focus on her face with an effort. His mouth worked and he licked his
lips. "Sc...Scully?"
She blinked rapidly, feeling the tears flow freely down her cheeks. "Yes,
it's me. Thank god you're all right..." She bent over him, placing her head
on his chest. The beating of his heart was the sweetest music she had
ever heard. She breathed him in and whispered a long-forgotten prayer
from catechism. After a moment she felt his hand rest on the back of her
head and grip her hair tightly.
Even after Skinner and Dr. May left the room, they stayed that way for
a long, long time.
Mulder wandered the hallways of the old school, familiarizing himself
with the terrain, and attempting to pretend that everything was just a-okay.
Dr. May had told him she saw no reason to keep him bedridden, since
physically he was just fine, and as there was no psychiatrist on the
premises, there unfortunately wasn't a whole hell of a lot she could do
other than offer a sympathetic ear and maybe secure him some anti-
depressants if he thought he needed them. Mulder assured her that
the most qualified person on base to deal with his problem was, in fact,
himself, and if he thought he needed some happy drugs, he'd let her
know. And then he'd turned and walked out of the room because he'd
suddenly been convinced that the doctor's face was crawling with
small spiders.
The hallucinations were more annoying than anything else; he knew
they were just that, fabricated visions, but he had a hard time convincing
the more visceral part of his psyche of that sometimes. Skinner claimed
that he'd heard that the hallucinations faded in time, but he wasn't
sure what sort of time frame to anticipate. He hadn't told Scully about
any of it, although he had a feeling Skinner was filling her in on his
every move.
Skinner. He'd been surprised at the reaction he'd had to the man;
the first time he had seen him after being rescued, Mulder's first thought
had not been one of gratitude, but rather, Scully slept with him. No,
to be more accurate, it had been, He slept with Scully first. Quite
territorial of him and oh so mature.
Skinner had seemed wary as well, appraising him with obvious suspicion
and guarded in his responses. Well, hell. Either they were going to be
able to work together, or they weren't. Shit.
He stopped in his tracks, realized that his mindless wandering was
keeping him from where he really wanted to be: Scully's room. Since
he'd been rescued they'd spent as much time together as possible, at
least as much as Dr. May would allow either of them. It was as if they
needed the continual reinforcement that they were both safe, and alive,
and together. It was the thought of Scully that allowed him to get up
every morning and to close his eyes at night, despite the certain
nightmares to come. He had to get better, if only to be there for her,
to help her in her quest, as she had once helped him with his.
Things hadn't been perfect between them since his rescue; he was
reluctant to burden her with the complete horror of his time with the
Colonists, and he knew that it was aggravating her. But he refused to
allow any of his pain to distract her from her own recovery, and she was
just going to have to live with that.
He sighed wearily and headed to her room.
"So when are you getting out of that bed?" Mulder asked.
Scully smiled wanly at Mulder's attempt at normalcy. "Tomorrow,
I'm promised, even though I feel fine already. Dr. May is a regular
tyrant."
"I've noticed."
Scully regarded him critically as he slumped in the chair next to her bed.
He still looked like hell, although she'd bite her tongue off before telling
him so. The deep circles still had not faded from underneath his eyes,
not even now, a week later, and she worried that the damage the Colonists
had inflicted upon his psyche would never be repaired. She'd rushed
to his side almost nightly when he screamed in his sleep, and even the
highly scarce drugs Dr. May had reluctantly agreed to administer to him
in an effort to suppress his dreams weren't helping much.
Mulder refused to discuss what had happened to him, only admitting that
the aliens had infiltrated his brain with horrific images beyond anyone's worst
imaginings in an attempt to pull information out of his head. He described
it as being stuck in a Bosch painting, but with the full knowledge that you
were bringing it all upon yourself. Scully suppressed a shudder at the
memory of the glassy look in his eyes when he'd confessed it to her.
She knew from tales of others' experiences with Colonist interrogation that
one of Their specialties was warping your mind so that you were in a
constant state of being unable to distinguish between nightmare and reality.
Mulder hadn't brought it up, and she didn't want to push him. He'd only
had two incidents so far since his arrival at the base (that she knew of) that
made her wonder: he'd freaked out in the mess hall one night at dinner,
hurling his Jell-O across the room (Skinner had been witness to this
disturbing display and reported it to her in carefully neutral, clipped tones);
and the other day when he was visiting her he'd suddenly stopped in the
middle of a sentence, stiffened, said, "Scully, there's a snake --" then
realized what he'd said and run from the room. He hadn't come back the
rest of the day.
He sat patiently under her scrutiny now, used to the once over she gave
him every time she saw him these days. "Do I pass inspection this morning?"
he asked quietly, with a hint of resentment in his voice.
"How'd you sleep last night?" she countered.
"How do you think I slept?"
She held his gaze for a moment, then dropped it and eyed the army
green blanket across her lap instead. She knew only too well that he
hadn't slept; he'd kept her up almost all night too. "Did you eat this
morning?"
"Yes, Doctor." This time he managed to mix resentment and affection in
his tone all at once.
"Good." She sighed, realizing how she sounded. "I don't mean to be a
mother hen," she said, "but you know that I'm worried about you."
"I know." He grinned. "I...have to admit, I kind of like it."
She rolled her eyes. "You never used to."
"Yeah, well, things change." His expression was unreadable for a
moment, then he seemed to lighten up. He got out of his chair and
came over to her, sitting next to her on the bed and easing her into
his embrace, careful not to jostle the IV that was still in her right hand
or his own splintered finger which he claimed he'd broken by accident.
They were also in the process of tracking down a dentist to fix his
loose molar. God, the man was a mess. She leaned into him as he
wrapped his arms around her and laid his hands on top of hers. He
smelled of the cheap industrial soap they used at the base, but she
didn't care. As far as she was concerned he smelled great. He was
a mess, but he was her mess.
"Have you seen Dr. May today?" she asked.
He brushed the top of her head with his lips. "Yeah. Still trying to
ply me with drugs."
"Mulder, if you think they might help --"
"No," he said firmly. "They won't. I'll be okay, Scully. It's just
going to take some time, is all."
"I hope so," she murmured.
"I know so. Now," he said, pushing aside her hair and lowering his
head to press his lips to her neck, "there are more important matters
on my rather questionable mind at the moment..."
She closed her eyes and smiled. His lips were warm, and soft, and
felt oh so good --
"Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt."
Her eyes flew open to see Walter Skinner standing in the doorway,
looking exceedingly uncomfortable. Mulder's lips left her neck and
she wiped at the cool wetness left on her skin. "That's okay," she
said, straightening in Mulder's embrace. Mulder didn't release her
from his hold.
Skinner's eyes flickered over to Mulder, then back to her again.
"There are some things we need to discuss."
"Yes?"
Skinner glanced at Mulder again. "In private."
Mulder's hand closed around her wrist so tightly she wondered if he
was even conscious of doing it. "If it's resistance matters you need
to discuss, I see no reason for Mulder to leave," she said smoothly.
She could feel Mulder tensing against her, and she silently cursed
Skinner for adding to her lover's stress levels.
"I'd be more comfortable speaking to you alone," Skinner insisted,
but she could hear the doubt in his voice.
"I'm not a traitor," Mulder bit out. His thumbnail dug into the soft flesh
on the underside of her wrist, and Scully suppressed a groan of pain.
"I didn't suggest that you were."
"Bullshit." Mulder eased Scully out of his embrace with surprising
gentleness and walked over to Skinner. He stood opposite him in
what Scully assumed was supposed to be a macho stance, his hands
clenched at his sides "You want to accuse me of something, Skinner,
you go ahead and do it. Don't dance around the issue like a ballerina
at a school recital. I didn't. Tell them. Anything." He was breathing
heavily now, the rage swirling visibly inside of him.
"How do you know?" Skinner retorted. "How can you possibly know
whether or not you told them anything? When I found you, you didn't
even know which way was up."
"Enough," Scully said sharply, and both men turned to look at her as if they
had forgotten she was there. "We don't have time for this adolescent mano a
mano crap. Mulder, Skinner has a point. But," she continued over his strangled
protest, "I think the point is moot, Skinner. Mulder didn't know the location
of this base, so he couldn't have told them even if he wanted to. Beyond
that..." She shrugged. "What was there to tell? I'm here, aren't I? We're as
safe as we can be, aren't we? Mulder is just as much a risk now as any of us
are. There's no sense in keeping anything from him, especially considering
what he just went through for our sake."
Skinner's jaw clenched as he considered her words. "Fine," he said after a beat.
"You want me to trust him, then I'll trust him."
"Gee, thanks," Mulder said sarcastically, but Scully quelled him with a look.
It was weird enough being alone with the two of them after so much had
happened between her and each of these men; she didn't need their jealousy
compounding the problem.
"So what did you want to talk about," Scully prompted Skinner, trying to get
them back on track. Mulder returned to his perch on the edge of her bed.
She reached out for his hand, and he took it reluctantly, presenting
Skinner with a united front. She squeezed encouragingly and was gratified
when he squeezed back.
Skinner ran a hand over his bald pate before replying. "I wanted to know the
status of your efforts to come up with a biological agent. I hadn't wanted to
bother you about it earlier, but it is crucial to all of our future strategies.
I need to know when to start a full-scale organization of all the camps on
the island."
Scully sighed. "I don't know. When I left I had come up with some new
trials, as well as gotten my hands on a blood sample from someone who's
naturally immune to the virus. I shuttled all of the information off to a
scientist I'd recently liberated, a Harrison Fields. I was hoping I'd have news
from him waiting for me when I got here." She paused, feeling a lump form
in her throat. "Rico would have gotten a message to me by now." The grief
from Rico's death was beginning to recede into that black place in her heart
where her mother had gone, where the memory of Mulder abandoning her
to the wolves still lingered. She would take care of it, in her own way, in her
own time.
Mulder caressed the top of her hand with his thumb. "Maybe Fields is just
waiting to report in until he has some good news."
"Maybe." Skinner looked skeptical.
Scully was about to insist that Fields would come through for them, and
that if he didn't, she'd get back to work on the lab trials herself, when Skinner's
right-hand man, Richard Yoo, burst into the room.
"News," he said, out of breath. "We just found out that the cargo freighter
you two took over here was blasted out of the Atlantic the same day we rescued
Mulder. A Colonist mother ship disintegrated it."
Scully saw Mulder blanch out of the corner of her eye. "Then that means..."
"...I told them you were on the ship," Mulder finished. "Oh god." He
pulled away from her and ran from the room, even as Scully called his
name and pleaded for him to stop.
There was a brief silence. "At the risk of saying I told you so..."
"Shut up, Skinner. It still doesn't mean that Mulder can't be trusted."
Skinner's face was impassive. "We'll see."
Mulder spent the next couple of days in a haze of guilt and self-pity, despite
Scully's efforts to soothe his conscience. Of course it wasn't his fault that
the Colonists had picked information from his brain no matter how hard he'd
fought them; but the fact remained that everyone on the cargo freighter was
now dead because of him. The crewmen who turned him in he didn't care about
so much, but Bishop had come through for Scully in the end, and being blown
to bits didn't seem like appropriate repayment.
Was it, perhaps, ironic for such thoughts to preoccupy an unemployed hitman?
Mulder was well aware of the absurdity of the situation. But he didn't really
think of himself as that cold-blooded executioner any longer. He had changed.
Life meant something to him again, these days.
And so even after Scully was released from bed rest by Dr. May, he found
himself keeping his distance, wanting to be wrapped up in his cocoon of self-
loathing without interference. And then, one night, she came to him as he
slept, slipping into bed beside him.
He was brought to gradual wakefulness by the persistent flickering of her
tongue over his earlobe, and it shocked him that his body responded almost
instantly with full arousal. Although that could also have had something to
do with the fact that her slender naked body was pressed up against his and
was very, very warm.
"I didn't order room service," he managed to crack.
"It's a complimentary gift platter," she riposted, and kissed him full on the lips.
He kissed her back, secretly glad that she'd come to him, even though he'd been
such a royal pain in the ass lately. He was also thrilled that she finally felt well
enough to be with him in this way, and he supposed the fact that she was all right
was all that mattered, in the end.
"You should know that I'm here for purely altruistic reasons," Scully murmured
into his mouth.
He pulled back slightly, raised his eyebrows. "Oh?"
She nodded, and her blue eyes were dark and serious in the dusk of the room.
"Mulder, I think you've been so intent on healing me and making sure that I was
okay, that you haven't taken the time to heal yourself. And I've been so wrapped
up in my own melodrama, that I haven't taken the time to help you with yours.
And I want that to stop. Right now. I =need= for it to stop."
"Scully, you don't have to -"
"To what?" she asked, cutting him off. "Don't have to help you? To care
about you? Don't have to need you or love you? Is that what you're
saying?"
He shook his head with great effort. "You know what I mean, Scully."
She looked at him with such sadness that he instantly regretted his words.
"I do know what you mean, Mulder. You mean that you have so little love
for yourself that you can't imagine there being room for anyone else to love
you. You're so intent on punishing yourself that you can't imagine anyone
wanting to heal you. You'll refuse me just like you'll refuse the drugs Dr.
May keeps offering you."
"That's not true..." he said hopelessly.
"Well, let's find out, shall we?" she said, her tone suddenly light. She
straddled his hips, then leaned over him and nipped his lips with her own.
"Let me make love to you, Mulder. Let me show you that all the hate is
gone. Let me show you how much I love you, how you make me feel,
how you deserve to feel. You've done it for me more times than I count.
It's past time that I returned the favor."
"I've told you before that you owe me nothing," he bit out, even as heat
inflamed his groin to the point where he could barely think coherently. He
suppressed the urge to rise up against her, to grind himself mindlessly
against the petite, beckoning body that was so close to his.
She took his earlobe into her mouth and sucked on it gently, eliciting a ragged
gasp from his lips. "You still don't get it, do you," she whispered into his
ear, her warm breath tickling and arousing against the delicate tissue. "This
isn't about owing, Mulder. It's about equality. Partnership. You and me.
In all things. Like before, only with benefits." Her hand traveled under
his t-shirt and began caressing his chest. "Understand?"
Did she expect a discernible answer at this point? He settled for a nod, and
she smiled. "Good," she practically purred. She kissed him again, slow and
deep. Her hands stepped up their explorations, tickling across his abdomen,
up his rib cage, and when her fingers closed on one sensitive nipple he exhaled
harshly into her mouth. She rolled the hardened nub between her thumb and
forefinger as she continued to kiss him, her tongue hot against his, sliding
over his teeth, his lips, in the same leisurely rhythm that her hand was using
on his now extremely tender nipple. Finally she pulled her mouth from his,
slid his shirt up around his neck, and replaced her fingers with her tongue and
teeth.
"God, Scully..." he whispered, almost afraid to touch her, afraid to do anything
that might distract her or break the spell. He settled for resting his hands gingerly
on her shoulders as he watched her suckle him. His erection managed to swell
even further, straining against his boxers, almost painful.
She raised her head and looked at him with a predatory gleam in her eyes.
She roughly pulled his shirt up over his head and tossed it aside before her
head dipped once more. He moaned as she began to bathe him with her
tongue, trailing her mouth down over his pecs, his nipples, his ribs, his navel.
It seemed to him that not a square inch of his inflamed skin escaped her
diligent attention. He writhed shamelessly beneath her as she drew the skin
of his abdomen beneath her teeth and sucked gently. "Trying...to give me
hickies?" he managed to gasp.
Her answering chuckle only served to arouse him even more. "Badges of
honor, Mulder," she said throatily. "Badges of honor." She nipped him again,
right above his hipbone, and he almost yelped.
Her hands stole to the waistband of his boxers. "In the way," she muttered, more
to herself than to him. And then her deft fingers were pulling them down his legs,
and the next thing he knew he was naked beneath her. She pushed his legs
slightly apart and knelt in between them, running her hands up and down the
muscles of his thighs. As if determined to torture him she bent her head and
kissed him everywhere but where he most wanted and needed her mouth. She
trailed her tongue along the line of his hipbone, down to the sensitive hollows
that lay in between his thighs and his swollen sex. Her breath tickled in the
coarse hair there, and he jerked beneath her.
Her head rose at his movement. "Patience..." she hissed softly. And then she
took him wholly into her mouth.
"Jesus," he whispered, involuntarily thrusting his hips up at her. He reached
out to place his hands on top of her head, smoothing her hair as she bobbed
up and down on him, taking him in and out of her mouth in a smooth, easy
rhythm. Her mouth was hot and wet and her tongue was so soft and her
teeth grazed him just slightly, just slightly enough to arouse and not hurt and
oh god it felt so good he couldn't stand it just wanted to lay there and have her
never ever stop for as long as he lived oh god Scully his Scully...
"Can't..." He couldn't get the words out, couldn't even figure out what he
wanted to say. "Can't...god. I want...but..." He finally realized what he
wanted, he wanted her to stop because he wanted to come inside =her,=
not inside her mouth, but oh god he wanted to come in her mouth too
because it just felt so good and he didn't want her to stop... "Scully," he
croaked.
She paused, lifting her head, holding on to the length of him in her now
slick hand. "Tell me what you want, Mulder. Whatever you want." Her
voice was strained, gruff with desire.
"You," he bit out. "Be inside you, now."
She released his cock, and he almost cried out at the loss of contact. But she
was moving quickly, and before he knew it she was straddling him again,
embracing his thighs with her own. She leaned over to kiss him, ran her
fingers down his chest, then seized his hardened member once more and
guided it inside of her, her eyes not leaving his. She bit her lip and sighed
as he filled her.
Perfection. That was always his first thought when he and Scully were joined as
one; he couldn't imagine anything feeling better than that moment of union. He
opened his mouth to try to say something, anything, when she lifted herself up
and then plunged down on him again, and all that escaped from between his
lips was a strangled groan instead.
"Good?" she breathed.
"Oh yeah..." Good had to be the understatement of the century. She was so
hot and wet and god how did she do that thing with her muscles and she was
moving steadily now, up and down on him, building the heat and the friction
and he jutted his hips up time and again to fill her further and further and now
her breasts, yes, he touched her breasts and cupped them in his hands, squeezing
her nipples and god when she moaned like that it was almost enough to make
him lose it right then and there...
"Mulder," she said, her voice high and cracked. "Oh, god, Mulder." She
clamped herself around him again - maybe it has something to do with being
a doctor, he thought crazily, she knows just what muscles to manipulate -- and
he groaned loudly, compensating for her mercilessness by rising up faster,
pumping into her frantically as she rode him hard and emitted a steady stream
of moans in between repetitions of his name.
It was always his name that got to him, the way she said it when they were in
bed, with this husky, almost reverent tone that blew him away every time he
heard it. Dana Scully crying out for him, only him...god, she was so beautiful,
her cheeks flushed, her mouth parted, her hair falling in her face as she
continued to move spasmodically above him, her eyes still locked on his face.
He watched her a moment longer, then pulled her down to him so that he
could take one of her irresistible nipples into his mouth, and she was only
too happy to comply.
"So good...you make me feel so good, Mulder," she said as he drew her
nipple between his mouth and sucked hard. "Do you know how good you
make me feel?"
He released her breast from his lips and pulled her head down, kissed her
mouth, drinking from her greedily. "Show me," he bit out when they
parted. "Come for me."
She nodded and lifted herself back up, then watched as he reached over and
began to finger her clit in time to the rhythm of their bodies. He worked the
hot, slick little button for all he was worth and almost immediately he could
see the physical changes in her, the increased breathing, the clouding of
her eyes. She slammed down on him again and again and then she was coming
for him, gloriously, her hands buried in her hair on either side of her head,
moan after moan and his name - god, the way she shrieked his name -- spilling
from her mouth and her sex contracting around him, pulling on him, until he
followed her into the void. He cried out her name as he released himself inside
of her with a white-hot intensity.
When his hips had ceased their involuntary jerking, she collapsed on top of
him, raining kisses over his chest. He enfolded her in his arms and breathed
her in, trying to steady the rapid beating of his heart. Jesus, he was shaking.
"I love you so much," he whispered fiercely. "I don't know why I took so damn
long to tell you."
"It doesn't matter," she said, laying her cheek against his chest. "I always knew."
They were silent for a long moment after that, absorbing the moment, enjoying
each others' presence and the warmth and security of their bodies intertwined.
Mulder was just starting to drift off to sleep when Scully spoke in a small,
quiet voice.
"We are going to be okay, aren't we, Mulder?"
He tightened his embrace, feeling as if he could never hold her close enough.
"Don't you remember something I told you a long time ago, Scully? When
we're together, anything's possible."
She let out a soft, unbelievably sexy laugh. "You know what, Mulder?
This time, I think I believe it."
"Me too," he whispered. And for the first time in a long, long time, he fell
asleep with a smile on his face.
Two weeks later Scully received an encrypted message from Harrison Fields,
the exact wording of which was destined to go down in history.
"Biological agent developed," it read when deciphered. "Test run successful.
Highly poisonous to slimies. Please advise."
End.